


The Case Of The Criminal

by Astra_Galaxy



Series: Criminal Case [1]
Category: Criminal Case (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Grimsborough (Criminal Case), M/M, Multi, Season 1
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-06-08 10:12:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 213,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15241137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astra_Galaxy/pseuds/Astra_Galaxy
Summary: Abbie Murphy has just past the detective exam and her first placement is in a quite town called Grimsborough. While its citizens seem innocent on the outside, not all is at it seems. Secrets, strange forces and murders lurk around ever corner, and it's the Grim PD number one team's job to revile them. But will Abbie manage to keep her own past a secret, or will the pain she has been tying to hide come into the light?





	1. The Death of Rose Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I do not own Criminal Case or anyone its characters, only the OCs in this story are mine. If you want to have a look at what Abbie looks like, take a look at my profile pic, that's her! Have fun reading!

Rookie Detective Abbie Murphy watched herself in the mirror as she tightened the brown belt of her Black Pleated Georgette Kurti. She wore simple clothes consisting of the loose shirt, flowing black cotton pants and kimono violet running shoes. She had her gun holstered on her belt and badge attached to her other side. She wore no jewelry except for small silver star stud earrings in both ears.

She played with her long midnight black coloured hair, and settled on leaving it down with the long bangs hanging in front of her face. Her kaleidoscope eyes watched the reflection of the young friendly faced woman with rich caramel coloured skin. She tried to make herself appear taller but it didn't work, she still held her petit, five-foot frame.

She left her room and grabbed her lunch from the kitchen and made her way to her motorcycle grabbing her helmet and keys in the cubby hole in the wall by the front door. She locked the door of her small farmhouse and hooped down her steps to the driveway and placed her lunch box in the bike's storage bag before swinging her leg over and slipping her helmet on. She started the engine of her 2015 black and blue Honda st1300 motorcycle and pulled out and onto the road.

She pulled into the parking lot of the Grimsborough PD in record time and shut her bike off and grabbed her stuff then made her way to her new desk. She reached the top floor and stepped out of the elevator and into the wide work area.

It had brown and green walls and a gray carpeted floor and only four desks near the walls of the room, a large screen was on the far wall, and a small kitchenette and couches in the corner away from the rest. No one else was in the room so Abbie put her lunch in the fridge and helmet on top of what was her new desk.

"You must be my new partner," a voice behind her said. She jumped and whipped around to face a thirty-something year old man with slicked up brown hair, blue eyes and pale skin. He wore a blue dress shirt with his gun holster straps visible across his chest with the gun at his side, black pants and brown shoes.

"Ah- bonjour I'm Abbie Murphy, nice to meet you," she stuck her hand out. He just smirked and shook her hand.

"Detective David Jones, but just call me Jones, everyone does," he smiled, "don't worry about hand shakes, barley anyone does around here."

"I'll try and remember that," she replied.

"Alright," Jones grinned then turned serious, "well you getting thrown into this quickly, a young woman was found dead at the entrance of tow, we need to go canvas the crime scene for clues. I'll drive."

Jones led out to the parking lot where his squad car was kept and they climbed into the front seats. He flipped on the lights and sirens as he speeded off to the crime screen. They reached it and got out of the car and ducked under the yellow tape and walked to the scene.

"I'll talk to the other officers to see if we have any suspects, you look for anything that seems suspicious," Jones said walking away.

Abbie made her way to the body and stood back as the coroner loaded it into the black body bag. The girl was dressed in a cheerleader uniform with her blonde hair falling around her shoulder and face. She had a deep gash to her neck and was covered in blood. Abbie took a deep breath at seeing such a young person's life ending much too soon and in such an unfair way.

A flicker of light caught her eye and she looked a few feet from the body and spotted a bloody knife. She slipped on some gloves and picked it up. It was dripping in blood which she bet her pay check it was the victim's. She slipped it into an evidence bag and handed it over to the coroner before he drove away in his van.

Abbie walked further down the road until she reached the wreaked old farm house and looked around. Her eyes zoned in on a pile of tattered blue clothing and she crouched down next to it.

"I leave you alone for five minutes and you've almost closed the case," Jones teased standing next to her.

She looked up, "not my fault, I found a knife covered in blood near the body, I gave it to the coroner to examine."

"He will be able to figure out if it's the murder weapon or not," he said, "what's that?"

"Not sure," she picked up some of the scraps, "my guess is it's a shirt."

He shook his head, "if you can piece that back together, I'll give you my cookies."

"Challenge accepted," she smirked.

Jones looked back at the scene, "we better head back to the office, we need to get the autopsy results and you need to fix the shirt."

"Yes captain!" she saluted making him laugh.

 

**_Back at the station . . ._ **

 

"Jones, you owe me some cookies!" Abbie called from her desk. She held up the newly sown up shirt. It was a blue football jersey with the number nine on the chest.

"If this belongs to the killer then he must have another one," Jones speculated.

"Why do you say that?" she tilted her head.

"Because it's a football jersey, I played football in high school and everyone on my team had multiple shirts so if something happened we had back ups," he said as if it were obvious.

"Ah . . . how silly of me not to know that," she rolled her eyes, "now where are my cookies?"

"Later, right now we need to get the autopsy results, to the lab!" he said dramatically walking briskly to the elevator, his partner trailing behind. They rode down to the basement and walked down the hall to the morgue.

"Why does every PD put the morgue underground?" Abbie asked not seeing any windows around.

Jones shrugged, "don't know, I think Chief King did it to keep Nathan's weirdness contained."

"Whose Nathan?" she asked as the glass door slid opened.

An Indian-American man in blue scrubs stood over the body writing down something onto his clipboard. He looked up when he heard the door and she was immediately drawn to his eyes, he had Heterochromia, his right eye was an electric blue, while his left was a warm coffee brown. He smiled shyly when he caught her staring.

"Abbie met Nathan, Nathan met my new partner Abbie," Jones introduced the two.

"Nice to meet you Nathan," Abbie smiled.

"Likewise," he said smiling and she picked up that his words were laced with an warn Hindu accent.

"So, what you got for us Natey?" Jones said playfully. The two must have a deep friendship because the Head ME made no comment on the nickname other than a slight half-hearted glare at the older man.

"I studied the wound on the victim's neck and I can tell you for sure that the killer is right handed," he traced his finger over the wound from left to right. "I added this in the report."

"Thanks Nathan that's just the thing we needed!" Jones grinned and dragged Abbie behind him and out of the morgue.

"Oi! Chief King wants to see you!" Nathan called after them. They took a detour to their boss's office and knocked on the door before entering.

"Welcome to Grimsborough Detective Abbie, I'm Samuel King, the Chief Police Officer," he greater her, then he quickly turned serious, "according to a witness who saw the man fleeing the scene, the killer wears a blue cap."

"Thanks Chief, well go check out which of our two suspects matches the profile," Jones said exiting the office.

They went back to their desks and pulled up the pictures of their two suspects up onto the scene. One picture belonged to a local gang member by the name of Ash Bison, and the other was Rosa's boyfriend, Matt Barry. Each picture had some physical information attached next to it as well as information discovered about the killer below them.

"That one," Abbie pointed at Matt's picture. Jones clicked on it to zoom in for a closer look. "He's wearing the football jersey, blue cap and is right handed."

Jones shook his head sighing, "he's the victim's boyfriend, can't believe she was killed by someone she loved that much. I'll have him brought in."

 

**_The following day, after Matt Berry's trial . . ._ **

 

"We've been asked to interview the second suspect about his dealing with the Vipers," Jones informed his partner. "He's "patiently" waiting for us in the interrogation room."

"Well we wouldn't want to keep the man waiting," Abbie smirked following her partner.

Ash Bison was a thirty-five, six-foot-tall man with a bulky figure, long black hair under his blue cap, and a gray shirt under a black leather jacket. A small viper tattoo was visible on the left side of his neck.

"We need information about your gang, the Vipers, got anything to share with us?" Jones asked straight to the point.

Ash scoffed, "I've got nothing to tell you about that."

Jones glared, "well then, Detective Abbie and I will have another look at the roadside, and trust me, we'll find something to make your life hell!"

"Yeah? Go to the roadside, see if I care . . ." he laughed, "if you two have time to lose, its not my problem!"

"We will," Abbie said.

They left Ash in the room and drove out to the town entrance. The yellow police tape had been removed and the crime scene was mostly cleaned up except for the dull blood stains on the base of the Welcome to Grimsborough sign.

They quickly set to work searching the area for anything that could be tied to Ash Bison. On the side of the road just a few feet from the sign they discovered a handgun hidden in the tall grass.

"Abbie, what about examining that gun?" Jones asked enthusiastically, "Bison probably dropped it when he got arrested."

"Let's head back to the station and dust for fingerprints," Abbie suggested bagging the gun.

They got back and Jones found the powder kit for his partner. Abbie dipped the brush in the powder and dusted the handle of the gun. She used the tape strips and managed to recover a couple good prints from the weapon.

"Great! The fingerprints you found are crystal clear," Jones grinned. "The lab should have no trouble analysing them and getting a match!"

They shipped the prints off to the lab and only had to wait an hour before getting the results. They went down the hall to the other end of the top floor where the forensics and tech lab where stationed across from one another. They entered into the tech lab which was filled with TV screens and computers monitoring various cameras and recordings, a large work table was pushed against  the center of the far wall opposite the door, and in the corner of the lab, away from all the equipment sat a couple of bean bag chairs in front of a TV screen set on top of a wooden stand with a game console connected to it. At the middle if the work table, sat a young man with his back facing them as he worked on the computer.

"Hey Alex!" Jones called and the man turned. Abbie saw that he had been playing a game of "Invaders" on the computer.

"Hey Jonesy!" Alex grinned cheeky, "who's the newbie?"

"I'm Abbie," she introduced herself.

"Hi Abbie, I'm Alex, but you can call me the Digital God if you want to," he grinned.

Jones rolled his eyes, "yes I'm sure Abbie will do that . . . Alex is in charge of all the technical stuff, and yes, he is good, although maybe not  _ that _ good."

"Spoilsport," Alex teased, "anyway the fingerprints you collected from the gun are a match with Ash Bison."

"Perfect!" Jones smiled, "I'm sure the idiot doesn't have a gun license. How much do you want to bet he'll talk now Abbie?"

"How about those cookies you still owe me?" she smirked.

"Oh no!" Alex cried dramatically, "Jones bet the fate of his precious cookies! What is the world coming to?!"

"Oh, shut it you," Jones flicked the man's head. "Come on, lets go tell Bison the great news."

The two went back to the interrogation room where they had left the gang member. Bison was still sitting at the table and smirked when he saw them enter.

"How was your trip, coppers?" he asked.

"Very rewarding," Abbie answered.

Jones took over, "we've got your gun, and your prints. In case you're too dumb to realize it, this isn't good."

"Now give us something good about the Vipers or it's off to jail for you," Abbie informed him.

"Alright detectives, you got me!" Bison snorted, "We've changed leaders recently. The new guy's name is . . . Keath Myass!"

"Great! Abbie let's go talk to this Keath Myass," Jones said.

"Uh . . ." Abbie coughed, "Jones? You might want to think about that one for a second."

"Keath . . . Keath My . . ." the lightbulb went off and Jones fumed, "Oh you little-! That's it! Let's put this jerk behind bars!"

He slapped the cuffs on Bison's wrists and they led the cackling man away for booking. He got processed and put in a holding cell to wait for realise with minor charges.

Abbie typed up her report at her new desk and was almost finished when a paper bag was dropped on her keyboard. She blinked at it and raised her head to see a grinning Jones standing in front of her desk.

"Your cookies partner," he said. she looked inside and found half a dozen chocolate chip cookies in the bag.

She pulled one out and bit into it, "now this is what I call a sweet reward."


	2. The Corpse in The Garden

"Detectives, a man called Dave Simmons claims he saw body parts in a junkyard garden," Chief King informed them, "go investigate and solve as fast as you can!"

  
"On it!" they said rushing out of the room.  


They drove to the crime scene and found the area taped off with cars guarding the house. A man in a beige business suit was standing by a squad car talking to an officer. Jones parked the car by the coroner van and they climbed out, they found Nathan sitting on the back of the vehicle doodling in a sketchbook.   


"Well don't you look busy," Jones smirked leaning against the truck.   


"I would be if you guys inspected the house already," he answered.   


"Yeah, yeah, don't get you scrubs in a knot," he said. "Come on Abbie, lets go get Nathan a body."   


They entered the garden and canvased the ground. Abbie spotted the hand sticking out of the car hood and felt her stomach did a backflip.   


"Nathan!" she called over, "I found something for you!"   


He came over slipping on a pair of gloves, he lifted the hood while holding the hand encase it turned out to not be attached to a body. There wasn't one under the hood so he removed the hand.   


"Need a hand?" he grinned waving the severed appendage.   


She grinned awkwardly, "no I'm fine . . ."   


Nathan shrugged and left to put the hand in the body bag. Abbie headed into the house and found Jones standing in the hallway outside of a room.   


"Found the body," was all he said. Abbie stuck her head inside and saw the cut and bleeding body in the tub. "I'll go get Nathan."   


Abbie nodded and entered the bathroom slipping on her own pair of gloves. She found a bottle of flammable liquid, a handsaw drenched in blood and the victim's clothes in a pile by the tub. She fished through the clothing and found a gold tooth hidden in the fabric. She popped it into a small bag just as Nathan and Jones entered the room wheeling a gurney behind them.   


"Way to go guys," Nathan praised, "you found the rest of the body, I'll have him loaded in a second."   


After taking pictures Jones helped Nathan to load the body into the black bag and up onto the gurney. The ME steered the body out of the room as the detectives finished bagging up the rest of the evidence.   


"I found the victim's wallet in his pant's pocket, his name is Ned Dillard and he was a mortgage broker," Abbie held up one of the business cards.   


"That's good, at least we have a name to the body," Jones said looking sad. "We better send that tooth off to Grace, unfortunately the barcode on the bottle of flammable liquid is smudged."   


"I can decipher it," Abbie pipped up.

He raised an eyebrow, "you can?"   


"Yes!"   


"Alright, let's go talk to the man who phoned this case in."   


They left the house and found Dave Simmons still standing by one of the squad cars. He was carrying a briefcase and had a bandage on his cheek.   


"Dave Simmons? I'm Detective Jones and this is my partner Abbie, we need to ask you a few questions," he said as Abbie flipped open her notepad, "what did you do once you saw the body parts?"   


"I call the police as soon as I saw the hand," the man responded.   


"Do you know a man named Ned Dillard?"   


"I do, I send my clients to him first for mortgage advice, is he the one whose hand I saw?"   


"Sadly yes, Ned is dead," Abbie informed him.   


Simmons sighed, "he was a good man, even if he didn't always show it."   
  
"Thank you for you time," Jones handed him a card, "if you think of anything don't hesitate to call, we may also contact you later."   
  
"I understand, thank you."   
  
They left the scene to the rest of the police force and headed back to the station to analyse their clues. They dropped the tooth off at the lab and then Abbie worked to decipher the barcode. It only took her a few seconds to find the right letters and numbers for the product.   
  
"The sale of this kind of fire starter is under strict law, it shouldn't be too hard to track down the seller," Jones typed somethings into the computer, "its from a mini-market nearby! And I know the owner of this place, his name is Joe Stern, lets go talk to him about this while the others run their tests."   
  
They drove over to the mini-market and entered the store. The man they were looking for was behind the counter scribbling words down into a day planer. He glanced up as he heard the bell above the door jingle.   
  
"Do you sell this type of fire starter in your store, Joe?" Jones asked holding up a picture of the bottle.   
  
"Yes, this bottle comes from my shop," he confirmed, "so what?"   
  
"We need to know who bought it."   
  
"They've committed a murder," Abbie added for encouragement.   
  
"Look buddy, you don't seriously think I keep track of my customers, do you?" Joe raised an eyebrow, "dozens of people come here everyday!"   
  
"Is that so?" Jones asked unconvinced, "well then Detective Abbie will have a look at your shop."   
  
"Just in case there are other things you don't keep track of," Abbie said already getting to work.   
  
They split up and each searched one side of the small store. They found nothing of interest but Abbie had a hunch about the bag of trash she found next to the cooler. She picked it up and nodded to Jones.   
  
"You want to take the garbage?" he asked confused.   
  
She shrugged, "people throw all kinds of things in the trash without a second thought, there might be something in here that will lead us a step closer to the killer."   
  
She set it on the floor and pulled on a long pair of gloves from her bag. She untied the knot of the black bag and started digging around. The smell wasn't the worst she had ever dealt with, her old classmates smelled worse than this bag did. She reached the bottom and found something that didn't belong in the trash, a short cash receipt. She pulled it out and skimmed the products that had been purchased.   
  
"I got the bottle of fire starter and our saw on this receipt," Abbie said holding it out for Jones to see.   
  
He squinted at the print, "the person paid in cash but they also bought a pack of bandages, and since the killer wouldn't have gotten them for our victim then we must be looking for someone wearing a bandage!"   
  
"That's the first piece of the puzzle," she bagged the receipt and slipped it into her bag.   
  
Jones's phone buzzed, he checked it, "and we might have more, Grace just texted me, the results on that tooth are done."   
  
"Well let's not keep her waiting."   
  
-Later in the Forensics Lab-   
  
The lab was a clean, and organized environment with equipment around the room and on various table, next to one wall was a futon couch with a blank across its back. Sitting on it was a red-haired woman in a lab coat waiting for them. She smiled and stood up when she saw them.   
  
"Nice to meet you, Abbie! I'm Grace, the head of this lab and I take care of all the forensic analysis," she said.   
  
"Nice to meet you to Grace," Abbie said back, "what did you find out about that tooth?"   
  
"Well for starters the bite marks on the bottle are a perfect match, which means that the killer must have tried to open the bottle with their teeth and lost it in the process!"   
  
She smirked, "I've got a cousin would through a fit if they heard that."   
  
"Well at least now that we're looking for someone with a missing tooth!" Jones exclaimed.   
  
"Wasn't Dave Simmons missing a tooth?" Abbie recalled.   
  
Jones nodded, "your right, our witness is now a suspect!"   
  
"I'll call him in."   
  
A half hour later they were in the integration room interviewing the man.   
  
"My tooth?" Simmons asked confused, "I lost it when I was younger, if that's all you want then I have nothing more to say other than I was there to sell the house."   
  
"Since you were the relator then I trust you know who it belongs to?" Jones asked.   
  
"Of course!" he looked a little nervous, "it belongs to Mr. Marconi and has been derelict for years, he's better off without it."   
  
"Did you say Mr. Marconi?" Jones's eyes widened. "Abbie, we need to speak to Chief King, Simmons your free to go, for now."   
  
They left the room and hurried to Chief King's office. Jones knocked on the door and their boss opened it a few seconds after. Jones quickly informed him of the situation and the Chief of Police paled.   
  
"Who's Marconi?" Abbie asked once her partner had stop his explain to take a breath.   
  
King took a deep breath, "Tony Marconi is a gangster involved in all sorts of shady business. But we haven't been able to pin anything on him, yet . . . this case might be our chance to learn more about him!"   
  
"I take that as an order to find him for a talk?" Jones smirked.   
  
"You two better," King braked.   
  
"Come on Abbie, lets go to his club," Jones said.   
  
They reached the club in record time and pulled into the parking space in front of the building. They entered the Blue Flamingo to find the room empty for the afternoon so they easily spotted Marconi standing behind the bar taking inventory.   
  
"Detective David Jones . . ." Marconi drawled putting the clipboard down. "To what do I owe the . . . pleasure of this visit? And who is this lady?"   
  
"Detective Abbie Murphy," she replied eyeing the Italian. "As for why we're here, did you know a man by the name of Ned Dillard?"   
  
"I don't think so," Marconi said, "is that all? I'm a very busy man, you know."   
  
"I'd watch me tone if I were you," Jones growled, "his dead body was found in one of your houses this afternoon."   
  
"You know what," his lip twitched in a slight smirk, "I think you would like to have a conversation with my lawyers, I really don't have time for such trivial matters."   
  
"I wouldn't call a man's death trivial, that's all for know but don't think this is the last you'll see of us," Abbie said ending the conversation.   
  
Marconi grinned, "I hope not, Poliziotta."   
  
She tilted her head, "have a good they, Malfaiteur."   
  
They left the club and climbed into the car. Abbie felt her phone buzz and she pulled it out. It was a text message from Nathan saying that he was finished with the body. They drove to the station and headed straight for the morgue."   
  
"What does Malfaiteur mean?" Jones asked once they were in the elevator.   
  
"Its criminal in French," Abbie said as the doors slid open with a ding.   
  
"You speak French?"   
  
"Oui, I'm Canadian-Turkish, grew up in Canada but I did travel to and from the Turkey over the years," they entered the morgue, "I also spent about a year in France before becoming a cop."   
  
"I wondered where you were from . . ." Jones said. They stopped in front of the body of Ned Dillard.   
  
"You didn't know she wasn't American?" Nathan asked pulling his mask off.   
  
"You did?"   
  
He nodded, "yes, her Turkish accent is obvious, but onto this man, the hand matches the body-"   
  
"I would be worried if it didn't," Abbie cut in.   
  
He smiled, "me to, but other than that the only other thing I can be certain of is that only a man of a strong build would be able to get rid of the body by cutting it with a saw."   
  
"I'm dying to ask you how a woman would have disposed of the body but we got no time," Jones said thrillingly, "our killer is a man and that's all that matters, thanks Nathan!"   
  
"Your welcome," he said covering the body with a sheet.   
  
"Come on," Jones said, "Chief King will want to know our progress."   
  
They knocked on the office door before entering the large circular space.   
  
"So, you two, how's the Ned Dillard case going?" King asked once they were seated in front of his desk, "have you found something to incriminated Marconi?"   
  
"Unfortunately, Chief we haven't found anything against him," Jones sighed looking downcast.   
  
King just shrugged, "oh. Well that is unfortunate, but you know what to do."   
  
"Um . . ." he looked nervous, "remind me again what that is?"   
  
Before King could chew him out Abbie answered, "the only thing we can do is to go back to the crime scene and find a clue to push this case forward."   
  
She dragged him away before the Chief could think about yelling and they hurried to the car. They started the car and drove off to the crime scene. They headed into the back yard and split up to search the small area.   
  
A neat mound of leaves was piled up in the corner of the fence. Abbie ruffled through it and discovered another one of Ned Dillard's businesses cards. She flipped it over and saw that a phone number was scrawled across the back but it had been smudged by the damp leaves.   
  
"Call Mira," she read, "wonder who that could be."   
  
Jones looked over her shoulder, "think you could decipher it?"   
  
"Let's get it back to the lab and I'll try to in better light," she bagged it and they left to recheck the bathroom.   
  
They found a shiny new tie clip hidden between the tub and the vanity. She bagged it and they left to analyse their newest clues.   
  
In the bright florescent light of the forensics lab Abbie worked to figure out the numbers on the victim's card. She wrote the numbers on a sticky note as she went and managed to decipher the ten-digit number. She duster the tie clip and managed to get two usable fingerprints off of it. They sent they sent the phone number off to Alex for processing and the prints to Grace for to find a match.   
  
They ate lunch at their desks while they waited for the results, Jones munched on a sandwich and cookies while Abbie had a container of leftover rice and chicken. She played with the visor of her helmet as she ate her food.   
  
"Do you race?" Jones asked.   
  
"Huh?" she blinked.   
  
He guested to the helmet, "do you race on you motorcycle? I saw it the other they, it's a sweet ride, I was wondering if you ever competed in a race."   
  
"No, unless a police chase qualifies," she smirked.   
  
He laughed, "oh do tell my friend."   
  
"When I first moved here for training I lived in Georgia and one of the guys we were hunting tried to run," she told him, "I was the only one with a bike so I went after him, raced through the streets of Atlanta, the guy ended up driving right into a river! He flailed like a fish before realizing it was only five feet deep!"   
  
Jones burst out laugh just as Alex came into the room. The techie raised an eyebrow at the Inspectors state and look to the Rookie for an explanation.   
  
Abbie waved him off, "told him a funny story, did you find out who the phone number belongs to?"   
  
"Yeah, its belongs to a Maria Sanchez, she listed as a house maid so my guess is she worked for your victim," he said handing over the paper of information.   
  
"Duly noted Alex, lets call her in," Jones said, Abbie already picking up the phone.   
  
"Oh, and Grace caught me on the way up," Alex said, "she said she couldn't get a match for your prints but that they did match the ones found on the murder weapon."   
  
"That means the killer wears a tie," Abbie said, "Hello, is this Maria Sanchez?"   
  
"That's another piece of the puzzle, when we get the killer we'll have to match his prints to the ones we've found," Jones made a note to do so.   
  
"Alright thank you," Abbie hung up the phone, "she'll be here in ten minutes."   
  
"Good."   
  
Ten minutes later the three of them were in the interrogation room seated at the table. Maria Sanchez was dressed in a maid's uniform and carried a bag over her shoulder.   
  
"Ned is dead?" Maria asked, "ha! So, there is justice after all!"   
  
"Is that so," Jones was sceptical, "why did Dillard have your phone number?"   
  
Her eyes flashed with rage, "I'm his maid, or rather I was until he fired me!"   
  
"And now Ned is in pieces while you the picture of health," Abbie crossed her arms, "you also have a good motivation for murdering him..."   
  
She rolled her eyes, "that's what you think . . . if I were you I'd go talk to that bodyguard, Dennis Brown. He offered his services to Mr. Dillard recently."   
  
"Do you know where we could find him?"   
  
"Last I heard he was the bouncer at the Roaring Twenties Casino."   
  
"Thank you, Miss Sanchez, that's all for now," Jones escorted her out of the office.   
  
Once they found the address to the club, they drove over to it to find the bodyguard. Just as the woman had said they found Dennis Brown standing guard in front of the doors to the Roaring Twenties Casino. He was a tall man in a sharp suit and a bandage visible on his cheek, when he smiled they saw his missing tooth.   
  
"Dennis Brown?" Jones asked, "we have been informed that you recently offered protection to a man named Ned Dillard, is that true?"   
  
"Yes, what about him?" he asked avoided their eyes.   
  
"He was found dead this morning," Abbie said bluntly.   
  
"He was a crook, I'm not surprised somebody offed him for the shit he sold them," he said. "Look . . . I didn't kill him if that's what you think. I even have a list here of people who might have killed him, all the people who got their houses taken from them by him."   
  
He held out a shredded piece of paper out for the detectives. Abbie scooped them up and bagged them. They left the man to his work and climbed back into their car. Abbie used her lap and strips of tape to piece together the list.   
  
"Hey that's Joe Stern's name on the list," Jones pointed to the mini-market owner, "that means Dillard duped him to!"   
  
"Let's pay him another visit and search his shelves," Abbie suggested.   
  
"You read my mind," he started the car and sped off to the store.   
  
They searched the shelves and Abbie spotted a surveillance camera in the top corner of the store. She found a ladder to get it down while Jones talked to Joe.   
  
"Why didn't you tell us that your property had gotten seized by Dillard?" he asked.   
  
Joe glared, "so what? I'm not the only one that bastard got to!"   
  
"Maybe not, but we will still be taking this security camera for analysis," Abbie informed climbing back down, the deceive in hand.   
  
"First the trash now the camera?" Joe pondered, "you two really don't have anything better to do?"   
  
"If I were you I'd just shut up," Jones suggested, "come on Abbie, let's go see what Alex can get off that thing."   
  
One camera analysis later . . .   
  
"So, I had a look at the recording from the camera you guys gave me from Joe's shop," Alex said, "you remember the receipt you found? The one belonging to the killer?"   
  
"Yes." Jones said.   
  
"Well I skipped to the time that was stamped on the slip and got a picture of the killer!"   
  
"Could you make an ID?" Abbie inquired.   
  
He shook his head, "unfortunately he never faced the camera, but thanks to the shelve he was standing next to I managed to calculate you killer's height! And lady and Jones-"   
  
"Hey!" Jones complained.   
  
"Your killer is precisely six feet tall!" Alex grinned triumphantly.   
  
"Thanks Alex," Abbie said.   
  
The detectives went back to their work space and pulled up the suspects profiles and killers profile. Only one man was a perfect match and it was surprising.   
  
"Dennis Brown?" Abbie said, "why would he kill Ned?"   
  
"Don't know," Jones said, "but let's go get him."   
  
Dennis Brown was still working at the Roaring Twenties Casino when they arrested him. They cuffed him and read him his rights before turning him over to booking for his trial.   
  
In Court . . .   
  
"Your honour, I can explain," Dennis pleaded, "I'm . . . I'm a victim of circumstances!"   
  
"The evidence collected by the Grim PD says other wise," Judge Hall said, "the reason why you committed this crime is irrelevant. The court therefore condemns you to life imprisonment for the premeditated murder of Ned Dillard. Court is abjured!"   
  
She slammed her gavel down as two officers escorted Dennis out of the courthouse and over to the prison.   
  
_**The next day . . .** _   
  
"Congratulations on completing your first big case Abbie!" King praised, "I have no doubt that you've got what it takes to be a great cop."   
  
He frowned, "however we have discovered that Dennis Brown received a large sum of money from an offshore account. I'm sure Marconi paid him to kill Ned Dillard."   
  
"Let me guess," Abbie said, "you want us to investigate?"   
  
King smirked, "try putting pressure on Dave Simmons, he might know something. He's been seen hanging around your crime scene, head over there and find out why."   
  
"On it boss," Jones said.   
  
"And while you're at it, stop by the mini-market. Joe Stern is requesting your assistance."   
  
"Let's go Jones," Abbie said.   
  
They found Dave Simmons perusing around their crime scene looking under the porch and bushes for something. He startled and tried to act innocent when he heard the squad car pull up in front of the house.   
  
"Hey Simmons!" Jones yelled exiting the car, "what are you doing here?! This area is still closed off to the public!"   
  
"Uh well . . . you see . . . I um . . ." Simmons stuttered, "I lost my . . . pen last time I was here, it's my lucky pen and I don't sign any contract without it!"   
  
"Lucky pen eh?" Abbie raised a brow, "Jones and I will look for it, come back later."   
  
Simmons nodded nervously but got into his car nonetheless and drove off. The partners split up, Jones took the backyard while Abbie took the front. She kneeled in front of the bushes but found nothing in them. The porch yielded he same results but she noticed a pile of leaves that looked to have been recently disturbed. She sifted through the dry leaves and found a tattered file-folder with most of the inscription smudged on the cover.   
  
"Jones! Come take a look at this!" she called over the fence.   
  
He come through the gate and looked at what Abbie had found, "that's Marconi name! But the file number has been covered in mud stains. Think you can recover it partner?"   
  
"I'll give it a shot when we get back, let's see what Joe wants on the way there," she suggested.   
  
They found Joe pacing the front of his shop looking furious as they pulled up.   
  
"What seems to be the problem Joe?" Jones asked.   
  
"The Vipers that's what!" he spat, "I saw one of those scumbag storm in my shop and mess up my shelves! He ran away when I busted him but I know he hid something in my shelves!"   
  
"The Vipers?" Abbie asked.   
  
"Trust me you'll get familiar with them quickly," he growled.   
  
"They used to be just a bunch of petty drug dealers, but lately they've appeared to be more organized somehow," Jones informed.   
  
"Ok," Abbie nodded, "well, Joe we'll search the place to see if they did leave anything."   
  
They searched the shelves and found a pink tin of assorted cookies tucked in the back. Joe's store didn't sell these kinds off cookies so they removed it from the shelf. Abbie popped the lid and fished around until she found a small bag of white powder underneath the stale sugary treats.   
  
"Someone likes their cookies extra frosted," Jones said, "this looks like cocaine to me, we better send it off to Grace to make sure of what it is before we tell Joe."   
  
They dropped it off in the forensics lab before Abbie worked to decode the file number on Marconi's file folder. They passed it off to Alex to find out more about it.   
_   
**A couple hours later . . .** _   
  
"What did you find for us Alex?" Jones asked.   
  
"It's a land registry file, Marconi's file actually," he pulled up the file on the screen.   
  
"Anything suspicious?" Abbie asked.   
  
"There is indeed!" he conformed, "Marconi wanted to buy a few properties which mortgages were held by... Ned Dillard! It also shows that he refused Marconi's offer."   
  
"Alex you're a GENIUS!" Jones exclaimed, "that's why Marconi wanted Ned dead!"   
  
"But that's not enough to charge Malfaiteur with anything Jones," Abbie reminded him.   
  
"Your right," he nodded, "but it is enough to but under Simmons's nose and see if it'll make him sing."   
  
"Before you two put on a concert I got something good for you," Grace poked her head in.   
  
"Did you find out what was in the bag?" Abbie asked.   
  
She nodded, "I did, it was cocaine you found with the cookies though its not of any good quality."   
  
"So, what was it?" Jones asked.   
  
She grinned, "20% cocaine and 80% of a sugar substance typically used as a . . . laxative."   
  
The three bust out in fits of laughter. They laughed for a solid minute before it subsided and they each took deep breaths to control their breathing.   
  
"Ah man!" Jones whipped his eyes, "to bad the guy didn't take any before leaving the mini-market!"   
  
"Yes," Abbie agreed, "it would have given us an easy trail to follow!"   
  
"Yeah," Jones frowned, "but seriously, we've been seizing more and more of this crap in the Industrial Area lately. We should go warn Joe that the Vipers might come back for the "drugs," and to keep on eye on this area."   
  
"We can talk to Simmons afterwards," Abbie said.   
  
Joe was reorganizing the shelves in the store, probably still looking for what else the Vipers could have left there.   
  
"You found something?" Joe asked.   
  
"You were right Joe," Abbie said, "we found a small bag of cocaine hidden in a tin of cookies."   
  
"What?!" he cried, "oh crap! What am I going to if they come back for it?!"   
  
Jones smiled, "don't worry, we'll have undercover officers patrolling the area to make sure you don't get into trouble.   
  
"I'm so sick of these lowlifes . . ." Joe growled, "they'll end up ruining my business. Well anyway officers take this its on the house as my way of saying thanks."   
  
He bagged them a couple sandwiches for the road. They left to find Simmons who was back at the crime scene waiting for them.   
  
"Did you find my . . . lucky pen?" Simmons asked fidgety.   
  
Jones smirked, "no but we got you a new one, we call it the "Cut-the-crap-and-start-talking-now" pen."   
  
"Thank to those documents you lost, we found out that Ned owned real estate that Tony Marconi wanted," Abbie said, "quite the coincidence, no?"   
  
Simmons started to sweat, "I-I don't know what you talking about . . . I was just hired to sell this house, that all!"   
  
"Look," Jones got in his face, "were pretty sure Marconi put a hit out on Ned, and were going to prove it!"   
  
"Look!" he cried, "I won't tell you anything about Mr. Marconi but I will say that if you know what's good for you, you'll stop sticking you noses in his business!"   
  
He rushed off leaving them in the front yard.   
  
"Dammit! I was sure this crowded would squeal on Marconi eventually . . ." Jones sighed frustrated.   
  
"Patience is a virtue Jones," Abbie reassured him, "if what you say about Malfaiteur is true, one they he'll slip up and we'll be there to catch him!"   
  
"Your right," he slung an arm around her shoulders, "now . . . let's go get a drink to celebrate!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second case down, fifty four left to go!


	3. The Grim Butcher

Abbie strolled into the office to find her partner hanging up his cellphone looking a very unflattering shade of green. He looked at her with an expression of pure horror mixed with sickly disgust.  
  
"I hope you haven't just eaten," he said.   
  
"I had a light breakfast, why?"   
  
"Because it might make a return trip," he grabbed his gun, "we just go a call, a Jennifer Carter has been found hanging up and cut open . . . just like a pig."   
  
Abbie paled, "not a happy ending . . ."   
  
"No, the others are on route now."   
  
They drove to the Colletti Butcher's warehouse a few blocks from the docks. The area had been closed off and they spotted three people talking to different officers who they assumed must be their fist suspects. They walked up to the entrance and braced themselves for what they were about to see.   
  
The warehouse was covered in blood. The walls, the floors and every table had pig's blood on it. Hanging from one of the ceiling hooks a young woman's body was stripped to her underwear, bound hand and feet with her ankle restraints connected to the hook. Blood dripped from her wounds onto the floor below her, the sound seeming to echo around the room for no one could bring themselves to speak.   
  
"Who could do something so . . . horrible?" Abbie whispered.   
  
"I have no idea . . ." Jones muttered, "but I'm scared know who could be so, psychotic in order to do this."   
  
Nathan walked onto the scene carrying a step ladder with him. He set it next to the body and got the body bag ready on the floor.   
  
"Jones?" he asked, "will you hold the ladder?"   
  
He nodded and grabbed its base. Abbie snagged a pair of gloves from the coroner's bag and slipped them on. She silently held Jennifer's shoulders while Nathan carefully removed her from the hook. He slowly lowered her to the floor while Abbie straightened her descent so that she should touched the floor softly followed by her lower half. The two detectives stood over her on guard as Nathan moved her into the body bag and Jones helped to lift her onto the gurney. They wheeled her out of the building and the crowd that had gathered quieted as they moved her into the van.   
  
"We better go look for clues," Jones said at last as the van drove off.   
  
"Yes . . ." Abbie said following him back inside.   
  
They went back to where the body had been located and found a footprint in the blood on the opposite side of the table. Abbie decided to look through the garbage bin and found a bloody cleaver.   
  
"The killer just threw the murder weapon in the trash," she held up the giant knife. Jones held out the bag and she dropped it in.   
  
"That's all we can find in here for know, let's go see our suspects."   
  
They decided to start with Raoul Colletti, the owner of the warehouse.   
  
"Mr. Colletti, did you know Jennifer Carter?" Jones asked.   
  
"Yes . . . this is such a tragedy" the man replied down-casted, "she often came into my shop . . . she was a sweet kid, always smiling."   
  
"Apart from you, who else has access to this warehouse?" Abbie asked.   
  
Raoul thought about it, "well . . . my apprentice, Raphael Soza has a set of keys, and my daughter of course, she was the one who discovered the body . . . its really shaken her up."   
  
"Thank you, Raoul, we won't take up anymore of your time right now."   
  
They found Trish sitting in the back seat of a squad car numbly sipping from a cup of coffee in her hands. She was the same age as their victim and was wearing a bright yellow sundress.   
  
"Hello Trish," Abbie said gently, "I'm Abbie and this is my partner Jones. We need to ask you a few questions about Jennifer."   
  
"I just can't get that image out of my head," Trish lowered her coffee cup, "she looked just like a pig."   
  
"We are sorry that you had to see that," Jones said, "were you friends with Jennifer?"   
  
Trish snorted despite the events, "no, she was way to posh, and she was a flirt and let everyone know, I wouldn't be surprised if she had gotten the wrong guy excited."   
  
"Thank you, Trish, that's all for now," they left the girl alone.   
  
Once they were out of ear shot Abbie turned to Jones, "there's something going on with her."   
  
"What do you mean?" he asked.   
  
"When she called Jennifer a pig, she said it in a way as if she were talking about Jennifer's personality, not the staging of the murder."   
  
"You think she could have done it?"   
  
Abbie shrugged, "maybe, but we'll need more proof before arresting her. Let's go talk to Raphael."   
  
The apprentice was waiting at another squad car for them lighting a cigarette.   
  
"Raphael Soza?" Abbie asked.   
  
"That's me," he put the lighter away once the cigarette was burning.   
  
"How long have you been Mr. Colletti's apprentice?"   
  
"For two years," he blew a puff of smoke, "after my mother left I ended up in Cooperville, Mr. Colletti gave me a second chance."   
  
"We see," Jones said, "your boss told us that Jennifer was a regular, did you know her?"   
  
Raphael look nervous, "uh . . . no, we talked but nothing more than small talk. I've been dating Trish for almost six months, I don't fool around with other girls."   
  
He smirked, "dating the boss's daughter, you got a good second chance, and even if you don't fool around with other girls, were still going to take a look at Cooperville."   
  
They left the young man and headed over to the Homeless camp located in an abandoned factory. Most of the people living there had left leaving only an older man in yellow tracksuit who was fixing the curtain hanging in the doorway of one of the shakes. He looked over as he heard the two approaching and smiled reviling a one toothed grin.   
  
"Jones!" he cheered, "long time no see! And who is the new recruit?"   
  
"Abbie this is one Tooth-Sam, he's the de facto mayor of Cooperville, Sam this is my new partner Abbie," he introduced the two.   
  
"Wonderful to meet you Abbie!" Sam said, "I'm an old friend of Jones', and I must say, the police have one cute detective! And 'm not talking about you Jones."   
  
Abbie giggled as Jones cried at the comment.   
  
"Thank you, Sam," Abbie said, "we were wondering if you could tell us where a man named Raphael Soza lives?"   
  
Sam huffed, "figures you weren't just visiting, Raphael sleeps in that car right over there."   
  
They inspected the beat-up car. Abbie dug around in the glove compartment and blinked at what she saw. She pulled out a pair of lacy pink panties with a 'J' embroidered on the front.   
  
"I doubt these are Raphael's," she held them out.   
  
"A bit fancy for this neighbourhood . . ." Jones agreed, "lets send them to Grace and she if she can confirm that there Jennifer's."   
  
Later . . .   
  
"Did you manage to get anything from those panties Grace?" Jones asked.   
  
"First thing, never ask me that again, and secondly, next time just send me a sample of DNA," she told them, "but I did manage to match some of the DNA to Jennifer."   
  
"Some?" Abbie repeated.   
  
Grace nodded, "yes, there was another set which I matched to Raphael Soza."   
  
"So, he was fooling around with our victim! Even though he's dating Trish," Jones fumed.   
  
"Maybe Sam could give us some insight to the two?" Abbie suggested.   
  
"Good point, he might know something about them."   
  
"Before you go," Alex entered the lab, "I first want to say that shoe print leaves a lot to be desired, but since I'm awesome I managed to determine that your killer has size ten feet."   
  
"Nice job Alex, do you know if Nathan is done yet?"   
  
"Almost, by the time you talk to Sam he should be done."   
  
"Alright, let's go," Abbie said.   
  
Sam was still fixing up the shake when they returned to Cooperville.   
  
"Sam!" Jones called.   
  
"Back so soon?" he asked, "what can I do for you?"   
  
"What do you know about Raphael Soza and Jennifer Carter?"   
  
He tilted his head, "what do you mean?"   
  
"We're they seeing each other?" Abbie clarified.   
  
Sam looked surprised, "well . . . no, I don't think so. You're not really suspecting the kid, are you? Raphael is a sweet boy; he'd never kill someone!"   
  
"That will be up to us to determine Sam," Jones informed him, "and the fact that we found Jennifer's underwear in his car makes him our top suspect right now."   
  
"There must be an explanation for this!" he huffed, "but I know you two will get to the bottom of it!"   
  
Abbie looked over at the car, "well it looks like Raphael is home, want to go ask him about this?"   
  
"Let's go," Jones said.   
  
Raphael looked up as they neared his car-house.   
  
"Can I help you officers?" he asked polity.   
  
"Maybe, we've got an interesting mystery on our hands," Jones smirked, "Jennifer's panties were found in you glove compartment. Did she come for more "small talk"?"   
  
The young man glared, "no need for the sarcasm mister! I don't know how her panties got there but I didn't take them! We were just friends, nothing more!"   
  
Abbie looked at her partner, "I don't know about you Jones, but my friends never left their underwear at my place."   
  
"Me neither," he smirked, "don't think this is the last you'll hear about this Raphael."   
  
Raphael turned scarlet, "have a nice they, officers."   
  
He climbed into his car and slammed the door shut. The two detectives decided they were done there for the they and headed back to the station for the autopsy results.   
  
Nathan was sliding the body of Jennifer Carter into the freezer shelves. He shut the small door as the detectives entered his lab.   
  
"What did you manage to find Nathan?" Abbie asked.   
  
Nathan looked grim which was a bad sign, "Jennifer had been it over the head with a blunt object . . . but she was still alive when the killer sliced her open."   
  
"Was she at least knocked out?"   
  
He nodded reaching for his garbage bin, "but that's not all, her heart is missing!"   
  
Abbie paled "That is disgusting!"   
  
"You alright Jones? You look a little green," Nathan said.   
  
"I-I'm good . . . continue," the detective gagged.   
  
Nathan handed him the garbage bin, "you not throwing up in my morgue, Jennifer was also tortured."   
  
"How can you tell?" Abbie asked while Jones tossed his cookies.   
  
"There are numerous burn marks on her breast, her killer is obviously a smoker."   
  
"Anything else?" Jones asked handing the ME the bin.   
  
Nathan didn't act like this hadn't happened before, "the killer isn't experienced, they left strains of black hair in the wounds, so you're looking for a smoker with black hair."   
  
"Thank Nathan," Jones swallowed, "now I'm going to get some coffee . . ."   
  
Later that afternoon . . .   
  
"Detectives, your victim's mother Vanessa Carter is asking to see you," Ramirez said entering the office.   
  
"Oh, you haven't meet Ramirez yet have you Abbie?" Jones asked.   
  
She shook her head, "no, nice to finally meet to Ramirez."   
  
He grinned, "you to Abbie, Vanessa is still in shock from the news but is willing to speak to you. Oh! And she also has her daughter's backpack, she said there might be something of use to you in it."   
  
"Let's go see Ms. Carter Abbie," Jones said snagging the car keys.   
  
Vanessa Carter welcomed them into her home and led them into her kitchen, Jennifer's backpack sat on the table.   
  
"Vanessa, we are so sorry for your loss," Abbie told her.   
  
Vanessa sniffled, "I c-can't believe m-my b-baby's d-dead! I t-told her not to go near that hobo camp! Deviants, murderers, the lot of them!"   
  
"Mrs. not all the people who live there are bad," Jones defended.   
  
"Oh, she was seeing a boy from there!" she stormed, "she wouldn't admit it but I knew! And now she's dead!"   
  
"We will keep that in mind Mrs. Carter, for now we would like to search your daughter's backpack and have a look around you house if you don't mind."   
  
"No, of course not, I'll just be in the living room," she grabbed a pack of cigarettes and lighter as she left.   
  
Abbie tackled the kitchen as Jones looked through the backpack. She found a torn paper and pieced it back together while her partner found the victim's cell phone.   
  
"This is perfect, a teenage cell phone contains their entire life, isn't that what they say?" Jones said holding the pink phone up.   
  
"Unless they own a diary instead," Abbie countered holding up the repaired page.   
  
"What did she write?"   
  
She cleared her throat, "Raphael and me are THROUGH! He's NEVER going to leave Trish-the-cow, too afraid of losing his job! The family's POISON! I HATE THEM ALL!"   
  
Jones raised an eyebrow, "I think we need to talk to our lovebirds, again don't you?"   
  
"Yes, we can have Ramirez call them into the station for us," they took the evidence with them and said goodbye to Vanessa Carter.   
  
Trish was the first to arrive and they brought her into their interrogation room.   
  
"Does this mean anything to you?" Abbie asked slapping the page form Jennifer's diary down on the metal table.   
  
Trish skimmed the words, "a girl is dead and all you care about doing is spreading around filthy lies? You're disgusting!"   
  
"We very much doubt that Jennifer would lie in her own dia-"   
  
"Shut up, SHUT UP!" she screamed, "Raphael was not having and affair with that-with Jennifer! He loves ME! He didn't care about that snobby flirty bitch!"   
  
"You seem to harbor a lot of hate towards Jennifer," Jones said, "why is that if she didn't steal your boyfriend?"   
  
She took a few calming breaths, "like I said, she was a snob and a flirt. Sorry for not swooning over her! Now if your done I'd like to go get a smoke."   
  
She stormed out of the building without another word.   
  
"Well at least we know that she's a smoker."   
  
"So is Raphael and Vanessa, though I can't see her killing her own daughter," Abbie said.   
  
"Well have to add that to our profiles later," Jones said, "Ramirez is bringing Raphael in here."   
  
Raphael sat down in the chair across from them, he read the paper on the table and gulped.   
  
"Great . . ." he cringed, "you figure that out. Okay yes, I fooled around with Jennifer once or twice . . . but she kept telling me to break up with Trish, that the Collettis were like poison! She really was insanely hateful towards them . . ."   
  
"Did she ever tell you why?" Abbie asked.   
  
He shook his head, "no, I was going to tell her to get lost. She wanted to tell Trish about us and I could have lost my job! She wasn't worth it."   
  
"Thank you, Raphael, were done for now," Jones said letting Ramirez escort the young man out.   
  
Jones and Abbie were updating their suspects profiles on who smoked when Alex came into the office space, tablet in hand.   
  
He whistled a tune typing on his tablet, "oh there wasn't much on that phone except for massages between Jennifer to her mom and friends . . ."   
  
"I doubt you came here just to tell us that," Abbie smirked.   
  
He grinned, "you know me to well, there was one message she sent two hours before her death, "I'm not scared of you! I'm going to tell. You'll pay for what you did!!!"   
  
"Little intense?" Jones said.   
  
"And guess who she sent it to?" Alex waited for them to guess but they just looked at him, "you two are no fun . . . it was Raoul Colletti!"   
  
"Looks like we need to call him in as well."   
  
Raoul arrived at the station shortly after they called him. They did the same as they had for his daughter and apprentice and placed a print out of the text message in front of him to read.   
  
"That-that massage was nonsense!" Raoul protested, "I just laughed it off! I figured she dialed the wrong number or something . . ."   
  
"Why would she have your number in the first place?" Jones wondered, "fast orders of kidneys?"   
  
"Look let's be serious here!"   
  
"Oh, we are being serious," Abbie leaned in, "we don't know what Jennifer had on you, but if this text is any indication, she could have gotten you in to some hot water if it got out."   
  
Raoul started to sweat, "you know how kids are, always making stuff up! She was just having me on, that's all!"   
  
"Well be the judge of that," Jones said, "know we need to know you and your daughter's shoe size."   
  
He blinked, ". . .ok, were both a size ten. Trish always complained she got my feet."   
  
He left the station and they added the two's shoe size to their profiles. They sat at their desks and mulled over what they had found.   
  
"I don't know what to think," Jones sighed breaking the silence, "what if Jennifer was molested by Raoul? He would become our number one suspect."   
  
"But there's no record of it and she can't talk anymore," Abbie reminded.   
  
He nodded, "I'm stumped, what do you say we go back to Cooperville Abbie? Maybe inspiration will strike us there."   
  
"I'm driving," she declared grabbing the keys off his desk top.   
  
They headed over to the camp sight and decided to investigate around the shack that Sam had been fixing up near Raphael's car. They managed to find a blood-soaked rag thrown onto the roof of the shack still wet with the edges crusted over.   
  
"This rag is covered in blood!" Abbie yelled from her perch on Jones' shoulders which she used as a ladder to reach the rag.   
  
Jones let her get down before taking a look at what she had found, "and it looks like the kind of rag butchers use. I think we better send this off to Grace."   
  
One blood analysis later . . .   
  
"Most of the blood on that rag was Jennifer's," Grace growled, "but not all."   
  
"Some of it is the killers?" Abbie asked.   
  
She nodded, "they must have cut themselves doing their dirty job . . ."   
  
"Could you find anything about them?" Jones asked.   
  
"Comparing DNA with our database could take weeks," Grace said, "but I can tell you this: your killer's blood type is O positive."   
  
"Thanks Grace," Abbie said.   
  
"That's another piece of evidence," Jones said, "and Ramirez got our last suspects shoe size, Vanessa Carter is a 9.5, Sam is a ten and smokes like a chimney, and Raphael is a ten as well. Basically, this means that-"   
  
Ramirez barreled into the room panting, "Detective Abbie! Mrs. Carter is here to speak to you. She's in hysterics, she wont stop crying! You ought to come quick!"   
  
"Lead the way," Abbie said following the field officer back to their office where Vanessa Carter was pacing the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks and she drew deep breaths to contain herself.   
  
"My daughter's heart!" she cried, "THEY SOLD ME MY DAUGHTER'S HEART!"   
  
"Vanessa, please calm down," Abbie said soothingly, "who sold you your daughter's heart?"   
  
"T-this morning when I went to buy meat, before they said my Jenny was d-dead" she hiccupped, "and there's-there's a heart in there and never bought any!"   
  
Vanessa looked the detective dead in the eyes, "don't you understand? They sold me my daughter's heart so that I would eat it!"   
  
"Those groceries are still in your home?" Jones asked shocked. Vanessa nodded meekly.   
  
"We will go there and figure this out, Ramirez will take care of you until we come back."   
  
The distraught woman weakly passed them her house keys before breaking down while Ramirez tried to comfort her the best he could.   
  
They entered the house and rushed into the kitchen where a brown paper bag sat on the floor by the dinning table. Abbie dumped the contents of the bag and pushed away the other food products until she found a heart wrapped in plastic on a foam tray.   
  
"Oh my-is that what I think it is?" Jones gagged.   
  
"I wish I could say no," Abbie choked.   
  
"Let's just get it to the lab, quick!"   
  
One heart analysis later . . .   
  
"Please tell us you got something Grace," Abbie pleaded as the red-haired woman stormed into the office.   
  
"Oh, its your victim's heart alright!" she screeched, "are you telling me the killer sold her mother her own daughter's heart?!"   
  
"Evidently yes . . ." Jones sighed, "did you find anything else? Could you get fingerprints off of . . . of that?"   
  
Grace shook her head, "no, but I did find something else, yellow fibers were stuck in her heart. Plain cotton, nothing remarkable . . ."   
  
"But we now know our killer wears yellow clothes!" Abbie exclaimed. "That was the last piece we needed!"   
  
"Well," Jones said, "I'm not sorry to see this case end, I only hope that Jennifer's killer hasn't had time to carve someone else up!"   
  
"You two better go arrest that freak," Grace said heading back to her lab.   
  
"Shall we Jones?" Abbie asked spinning her cuffs on her finger.   
  
"Lead the way."   
  
They drove over to the butcher's warehouse and saw Raoul and Trish outside hulling garbage bins to the dumpster. They pulled up beside them and got out.   
  
"Trish Colletti you are under arrest for the murder of Jennifer Carter," Abbie said as Jones slapped the cuffs on the teenager's wrists while he read her the Miranda rights.   
  
"Dad, you're not going to let them arrest me, are you? Dad, do something?!" Trish cried while being lead to the car.   
  
"We have her hair in Jennifer's wounds and her blood on a rag from the warehouse mixed in with Jennifer's," Jones informed the man.   
  
"I . . ." Raoul looked heartbroken, "they have proof sweetie . . . how-how could you do such a thing?"   
  
Trish looked furious, "that bitch was sleeping with my boyfriend!!! And she kept making passes at you dad, I saw her! You would start sweating when she came into the store! And I was just supposed to let that fly?!"   
  
Jones looked confused, "you're telling us that you cut open this girl all because you thought she was a flirt?!"   
  
"She was a TRAMP! I had to teach her to behave!"   
  
"By cutting her up!?" Abbie yelled.   
  
Trish laughed maniacally, "SHE HAD IT COMING!! I don't regret nothing, nothing! She bled like the pig she was!"   
  
"That's enough from you," Abbie pushed her head into the car and slammed the door shut.   
  
In Court . . .   
  
Judge Hall looked down cast as she addressed the court once everything had been brought forward.   
  
"Never before have I heard of such a heinous crime in all my years presiding this Court," she spoke with grief heavy in her words, "for this reason, Trish Colletti, despite being 16 you have been tried as an adult for the kidnapping, torture and slaughter of Jennifer Carter."   
  
"I only did what had to be done!" Trish shouted from her spot cuffed to her chair, "Raphael was under her spell, but now he knows I did it for love, for us!"   
  
Raphael, who was sitting next to One-Tooth Sam near the back twisted his face in a sick discomfort at his ex-girlfriend's words.   
  
Jones caught the young man's look from the corner of his eye, "I think what Raphael KNOWS is that he's you didn't have time to carve him up as well . . ."   
  
"STOP LYING!!!" Trish exploded trying to get at the Inspector, "he hated her, he wanted her gone, she was a witch!"   
  
Vanessa Carter sobbed while her oldest daughter tried to comfort her mother through her own tears. Raoul turned away not able to handle knowing what his little girl had done and showed no remorse for.   
  
"Silence in the Court!" Judge Hall ordered, "Trish Colletti you are hereby sentenced to life in jail with psychological monitoring and a chance for parole in 40 years. Court is adjourned!"   
  
They crowned left as Trish was escorted out by two guards, protesting and insulting Jennifer the whole time.   
  
Jones watched the people leaving from Court on the steps of the Courthouse, "I wonder how Mrs. Carter will ever be able to rebuild her life . . . she couldn't even speak during the trial . . ."   
  
"Her other daughter will be staying with her for a while, until Vanessa is able to take care of herself," Abbie said taking a drink from her coffee mug, she offered it to Jones.   
  
He accepted it, "as for Mr. Colletti, it seems that text wasn't directed at him, the SVU will investigate the real culprit, but its out of our hands."   
  
"He has bigger issues to deal with than that text," Abbie said, "he has to go everyday knowing what his daughter did and that she was proud of it."   
  
He took a sip of the sweet liquid, "what kind of coffee is this? Does it have sugar in it?"   
  
"Yes, it's a special drink I make with maple syrup and whiskey, and before you say anything there's zero alcohol in this version," she said taking her mug back, "figured I'd want something a little sweeter after this case . . ."   
  
"We'll go out tomorrow night, the whole team, and you can have all the alcohol, you want," he promised, "now, let's go finish up the reports."   
  
They went back to the office but before they could even make it to the elevator, the receptionist told them that Chief King had requested them in his office immediately.   
  
"Detective Abbie, you did splendidly on this case. I know it couldn't have been a walk in the park, but you kept your cool and got to the bottom of this, good job," King said happily.   
  
"What about me?" Jones asked.   
  
He rolled his eyes, "you did splendidly to Jones, I also wanted to give you this."   
  
King handed Abbie a leather shoulder bag. She peaked inside and found field forensic equipment and a laptop on either side of the divider.   
  
"Grace told me that you couldn't send her samples straight from the field, so her and Alex put that together for you."   
  
Abbie smiled, "thank you sir."   
  
"Thank them, now," he said, "I think you should check up on Mrs. Carter and Mr. Collettie, both have lost a daughter today and I want to make sure they won't do anything the might regret. And while you're at it, go talk to One-Tooth Sam, I'm sure he'll like the attention."   
  
They decided to head over to the butcher's warehouse first to check up on Raoul. They found him frantically pacing his warehouse checking ever surface and corner for something. He made a noise of relief when he saw them.   
  
"I haven't slept in two days! I see Jennifer's blood everywhere!" Raoul exclaimed, "please, detectives, could you inspect my warehouse and check that there aren't anymore objects tainted with her blood?"   
  
"Of course, Mr. Colletti!" Jones gulped, "we'd be happy to look at all that blood for you!"   
  
"Oh, thank you!" he cried, "I come back later, I need to head home and calm down for a bit."   
  
He left and the partners set to work searching the space where Jennifer's body had been found. On the center table, a pair of black rimmed glasses covered in blood sat.   
  
"I knew you would find probably the only object with Jennifer's blood on it!" Jones said as Abbie got her new kit out, "and since you found them I'll give you the honor of collecting a sample for Grace!"   
  
"How generous," she joked. Abbie pulled out a microscope slide and a dropper, she examined the glasses and drew a couple specks of blood from the areas that were still wet.   
  
"We can drop this off at the lab and then check in on Sam," she said putting the slide in a protective case.   
  
They headed over to Cooperville after dropping the blood sample off. They found Sam searching the area looking in and around all the homes and garbage can and barrels.   
  
"Oh, good just the people I needed!" he said, "look between the Vipers and Marconi's henchman, things here are getting worse and worse. We have to hide everything we have or risk those goons taking them from us!"   
  
"I understand your frustration Sam," Jones sighed, "but so far we haven't been able to pin anything on those guys . . ."   
  
"Ha! I'm not asking for that much! But I hear your new pal Abbie is a crack at finding lost stuff, and I can't figure out where I put my lucky gold tooth," he grinned showing off his empty mouth.   
  
"Don't worry Sam! I'll find your tooth in no time!" Abbie promised, "it must be some where's around the camp."   
  
She set to searching the area and was quickly drawn towards a trash bin hidden slightly behind the shack. With the two men watching she popped off the lid, slipped on a pair of long gloves and dug to the bottom of the can and fished around till her hand enclosed around a tooth shaped object. She pulled it out and held up the shiny gold tooth.   
  
"Well I'll be!" Sam said, "Abbie really is a crack! Thanks detective!"   
  
"Hey I helped to by motivate her . . ." Jones mumbled.   
  
He patted the detective on the back, "sure . . . I'm pretty good at finding stuff too! Here Abbie, this is for you, and don't worry, I washed it."   
  
Sam pulled out a gray jaunty cap from his bag and slapped it on her head. Abbie adjusted the hat so that it fit properly.   
  
"How do I look?" she asked.   
  
"Cute," Jones said, "now let's go check up on Mrs. Carter, see you later Sam!"   
  
"Stay safe!" Sam yelled after them.   
  
They knocked on the door of Vanessa Carter's home, the woman answered it and greeted them with a shaky smile.   
  
"Come in, I just put on some tea," she led them to the kitchen and got the teacups ready.   
  
"How are you holding up Vanessa?" Jones asked.   
  
She started crying, "oh you have to help me! My sweet little baby will be buried tomorrow and I can't find her baptism medal anywhere! She needs to wear it for her eternal rest!"   
  
"Of course, we'll help you!" Abbie reassured, "we'll find her medal in no time, we'll start by looking in the kitchen. You just sit down and let us look."   
  
"Alright," she went over into the living room and grabbed a scrapbook from the coffee table.   
  
They searched through the cabinets and containers for the small medal. On the countertop, they spotted a pile of bronze shards hidden slightly underneath a dish towel.   
  
"Abbie, I think you've struck gold as usual!" Jones said, "well I say "gold" but what kind of metal brakes into so many pieces?!"   
  
"We can't give it back to Vanessa in this state!" Abbie said digging in her bag, "let's see . . . powder . . . droppers . . . tape-ah-ha!"   
  
She pulled out a bottle of quick dry super glue and set to work. She carefully maneuvered the small pieces into place with a pair of tweezers and dabbed drops of glue in the broken edges and made short work of repairing the medal.   
  
"Let's show Vanessa," she said blowing on the medal to speed up the drying process.   
  
"Mrs. Carter?" Jones asked as Abbie held out the medal, "is this Jennifer's baptism medal?"   
  
"It . . . it looks like it, but my oldest daughter has the same one, let me see," she took the medal and flipped it over, "I . . . I can't read the birthdate! How can I know for sure? Oh, my poor baby girl!!"   
  
"Vanessa please relax, Jones and I are used to these things, just give me a second and I'll tell you what it says," Abbie said, she took the medal back and pulled out a small magnifying glass, "is Jennifer's birthday 04/12/1995?"   
  
"Yes! Yes, it is!" she jumped up and grabbed the younger woman's hands, "oh thank you so much Detective Abbie! Now my daughter can truly rest in peace! Please let me make you two some lunch, it is the least I can to for what you have done."   
  
She made them some sandwiches to go with the tea and they stayed until Vanessa's oldest daughter came back to say with her mother. They went out to the car and Jones's cell phone rang.   
  
"Jones and Abbie," ha answered putting it on speaker.   
  
"Hey guys its Grace," the forensic expert said, "I've analysed the blood you sent me and it came up positive for Jennifer Carter. But, hm . . . I thought this case was closed?"   
  
"Haha . . ." Jones laughed nervously, "long story. Anyway, thanks Grace, I don't know what Abbie and I would do without you!"   
  
He hung up the phone and started the car, "let's go tell Raoul about the glasses."   
  
Raoul was back at the warehouse waiting for them.   
  
"Here you go Mr. Colletti," Jones said showing him the bag with the glasses, "these glasses were the only thing on which Abbie found traces of Jennifer's blood on."   
  
"Thank you so much Detective Abbie, Detective Jones!" Raoul said relieved, "if everyone was as selfless as you, maybe my daughter wouldn't have become a murderer."   
  
"Well unfortunately we will never know about that will we?"   
  
He looked ashamed, "I guess not. Anyway. Thanks again. Maybe now I'll finally manage to get some sleep at night."   
  
"I wish you luck Raoul, and don't give up on Raphael, he has great potential," Abbie said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this case doesn't put you off of eating bacon, nothing will.


	4. A Night Out For The GBPD Team

Abbie crossed the street on a starry night with the heels of her boots making a slight clicking as she walked down the side walk. She had put on a pair of purple flared pants under a black dress with a lose pencil skirt that had a sliver belt around her waist, and long sleeves.

Jones had given her the direction to the team's usual hang out spot after a rough case, The Balanced Scales. A law themed bar and restaurant located in the Historical Center. It was a small sized room with an 'L' shaped bar on one side and a row of booths along the opposite wall. In the far corner, the rest of the team sat in the only crescent shaped booth. She ordered a glass of their best coffee and headed over.

Abbie slid in next to Nathan who was sipping what appeared to be a chocolate milkshake with a cherry on top. A plate of tortilla chips and spinach dip sat in the middle surrounded by the rest of the team's drinks. Both Jones and Ramirez had beers, while Alex had a rum and coke, and Grace was drink a lime margarita.

"You're not going to drink?" Jones asked seeing his partner with her mug of coffee.

Abbie smirked into her drink, "I don't drink."

"I thought you did?" he remarked taking a sip of his own beer.

"Nope, never had a drink in my life and don't plan to," she said, "what are you drinking Nathan?"

He blinked his dual coloured eyes, "a chocolate milkshake?"

"He's always the designated driver because he doesn't drink," Alex said.

"Pretty much every bar in the city that we go to has the stuff to make him a milkshake," Grace said shaking her head, "he never orders anything else."

"I have a sweet tooth!" Nathan grinned pulling his drink closer.

"Yes, yes you do," Jones shook his head reaching over to fluff the coroner's hair. The smaller wined in protest and leaned away form the older man.

"So, Abbie," Ramirez said, "you're from Canada?"

"Yes, lived in Montréal, Québec most of my life. Moved here about a two year ago to become a detective in America," Abbie said putting her coffee down.

"You don't miss home?" he asked.

She shrugged, "parts of it, but I'm happy to be here."

Alex grabbed a chip, "well I don't know about you guys, but I hope not to have another case as gruesome as that one anytime soon."

"Agreed," Grace said, "and I don't even see the body."

"I do," Nathan said, "and I Kīnā seeing such young people on my table."

"Yes, but your use to it Nathan the rest of us, not so much," she chastised, "and its "hate" speak English for Pete's sake."

His face turned a darker shade and he concentrated on the cherry in his milkshake, "I'm Indian . . . I can't help how I talk."

Abbie frowned, "how many districts are there in Grimsborough?"

"Six counting the Airport," Jones said picking up on the sour mood, "the Industrial Area is where we start out the newbies and they work their way to the Financial Center, Historical Canter, The University, then Maple Heights and finally the Airport."

"After which they can pick to stay in a certain district or choose to work in all six when need," Ramirez added. "Both Jones and I choose to go where we are needed, but you'll have to work through each district before you can choose where to stay or go."

"Doesn't sound too bad," Abbie said.

"Its not," he agreed, "so what did you do before becoming a cop?"

She set her empty glass down, "I was a professional dancer."

"Really? That sounds like a safer job," Grace said.

Abbie played with the ends of her hair, "it was, but it wasn't what I wanted to spent the rest of my life doing."

"Why?" she asked, "you must have been good. Why not continue?"

"Like I said, it wasn't for me," she shrugged, "and I was one of the best in the city."

"What colour are your eyes?" Alex blurted out, "ah . . . I mean . . . it's hard to tell . . ."

Abbie chuckled, "it's alright, but to answer your question, I really don't know."

"They look blue," Jones said eyeing the eyes.

"I was going to say they were green," Ramirez chimed in.

"No way," Grace interjected, "their obviously hazel."

"Told you," Abbie said to Alex, "no one knows."

"I'm just going to call them rainbow," Alex said leaving it at that.

She chuckled, "rainbow, galaxy, a paint bomb. I've heard them all."

"And I thought my eyes were a weird sight to see," Nathan pipped up finishing off the last of his milkshake.

"Well at least there's a proper name for yours," she teased, "they just labelled mine "unnatural" and sent me on my way."

He picked out the cherry from his empty glass, "well, I say your eyes looks much cooler then my eyes."

"Oh, do the cheer knot!" Alex begged.

"The what?" Abbie raised an eyebrow.

"The cherry knot," He repeated, "its so cool! Show her Nathan!"

Nathan popped the cherry in his mouth and chewed it. They waited for a minute before he put his fingers to his lips and pulled out the cherry stem now tied into a knot.

"Ta da," he said showing her.

She clapped, "that is cool!"

"Dhan'yavāda," he dropped it into his glass.

They stayed there talking to one another for a couple hours before deciding to call it a night. They split the bill between the six of them and left the bar. Grace and Alex shared a cab while Ramirez wife had come to pick him up. Abbie had a brief introduction to the Spanish woman named Valentina who had beautiful, features and a motherly air to her. Jones, Nathan, and her walked down the sidewalk to the coroner's car which was parked at the end of the block.

"I call shot gun!" Abbie yelled running to the passenger door.

"Aw man! No fair!" Jones complained, "Nathan I always get shot gun!"

Nathan rolled his eyes unlocking the doors, "that's because you're the only one I normally drive home. Now I have two to drive so you just have to be quicker."

Abbie stuck out her tongue and climbed into the seat. Jones willingly got into the back and Nathan started the engine. He drove Jones home first and then headed over to Abbie's house.

"Does Grace always act that way towards you?" Abbie asked once they stopped at a red light.

He chewed his lip, "sometimes . . . she and I tend to, how's that expression go? Butt heads?"

She nodded.

"Dhanyavaad," he thanked, "she thinks it's weird to enjoying my job and hates my "improper use of Hindi"."

"You're not weird," she said honestly, "you're just . . . unique, in a good way."

Nathan laughed, "that's the first time anyone has said it that way! But its okay, I've been weird my whole life, I got use to people not likening me."

She huffed and crossed her arms, "well I like you no matter how weird or not weird you are."

He glanced over at her, "you've known me all of what? Two weeks?"

"Almost three! But it takes me less time to see if I like people or not," Abbie replied, "so you lived in New Delhi?"

"Yeah, I grew up in a foster facility in the capital, I was there until I was about ten, then moved in with my foster father," he pulled into her driveway.

"Your adopted?" she asked unclicking her seatbelt.

Nathan nodded, "I never knew my real parents, but I'd like to meet them someday . . ."

"I'm sure you will," Abbie got out of the car, "good night Nathan."

"Night," he called back as he pulled out of the driveway.

 


	5. The Dockyard Killer

"Hay Abbie!" Jones said as he strolled into the office, "ready to solve a new case?"

"Yup! Do we have one?" she asked sitting forward in her chair.

He nodded, "its down at the docks, there waiting for us to process the scene."

"Let's not keep the good people waiting any longer."

They drove down to the docking yard where all the shipping container from the cargo ships loaded and unloaded for the city. In the far-off section of metal containers, the body of a twenty-year-old man was propped up against a crate, his hand on his stomach showing that he had tried to stop the bleeding. Nathan had the body bag ready to load him when they arrived on the scene.

"I'll be out of your way in a second," he drawled.

"How do you get here so fast?" Abbie asked.

Jones laughed, "he barely sleeps! I swear he's part dolphin or something else that rarely sleeps."

Nathan chuckled, "no, I do sleep but I can go for a while on little sleep."

"That's it?" Abbie asked.

"Wellll . . . I also love coffee," he smirked.

"Of course, you do," she said, "Jones, let's see what we can find."

They walked around the area and found the victim's wallet near his feet and a broken badge near the shipping container. Abbie worked to repair the button while Jones fished through the wallet for ID and anything else of relevance to the case.

"According to his ID his name is Dan Broke, and there a slip of paper here with an address," he squinted, "hey I know this address! Its in Caribou Corner! We're often called there for ODs and fights . . ."

"Not the safest neighborhood," Nathan chimed in zipping the black bag.

"We can go see Gloria, she's the superintendent, with a bit of luck she'll recognize Dan!"

"What about this badge?" Abbie asked holding up the black badge with a white cartoon skull on it.

"A skull badge?" he snorted, "really?"

"Hey! I used to have one of those," Nathan said.

"Yeah, back in the 80s."

"But the badge was broken," Abbie stated, "it couldn't have gotten here in pieces by chance."

"Your right . . . we better send it off to the lab just to check it, can you bring it to Alex?" he directed the last question at the ME as his partner slipped it into a small bag.

He nodded, "he'll get it as soon as I get back."

They passed off the badge and went their separate ways. The two detectives went over to find the man, James Smith, who had reported the murder to 911 that morning.

"James, can you tell us what you saw today?" Jones asked the barge driver.

"I was driving the barge back to port when I spotted that guy on the docks. I called out to him but he didn't answer," James recalled, "that's when I saw the blood. I freaked out, like . . . and I thought I better call the cops."

"Did you see anyone else on the docks?" Abbie asked.

"Nah. This part of the river's always deserted. That's why I was surprised to find someone here . . ."

"Thank you, that will be all for now."

They left the scene and drove over to Caribou Corner to talk to Gloria. They pulled up in front of a run-down apartment building with probably six studio apartments on each of the five floors. They entered the building and walked up the flight of stairs to the second floor and Jones knocked on the door with the number 308 on it. A heavier set woman in a pink bath rob and curlers in her hair answered the door.

"Gloria!" Jones greeted the woman, "my favorite super intendant in this doggy neighborhood! -"

"What do you want now Detective Jones?" the woman asked sounding annoyed, "can't you see you've interrupted my spa they?"

"Sorry about that," he apologized, "meet my new partner Detective Abbie, she has a few questions for you."

"Nice to meet you honey," Gloria's dimeter changed when she saw the friendly looking young woman.

"Do you know this man?" Abbie asked showing her a picture of Dan.

"Do I know him? He has a girlfriend up on the third floor. Got into trouble again?"

She shook her head, "no, actually he's dead."

"Oh," Gloria didn't sound to moved by the news, "at least he won't be throwing up on my stairs anymore, right?"

"Your grief is touching Gloria," Jones deadpanned, "what's his girlfriend's name?"

"Sally Stone," she replied, "she lives in apartment 315. And I'll be here if you need to . . . interrogate me some more honey."

"Well keep that in mind, lets go talk to Sally, Abbie!" Jones said grabbing his partner's wrist and pulling her away from the door. Gloria huffed and went back inside her apartment.

When they knocked on the door of 315 a woman with red hair and blood shot eyes answered it. She looked to have just dragged herself out of bed and her hands were shaking slightly.

"Sally Stone?" Jones asked, "we are here to ask you a few questions about Dan Broke."

"I-I don't know any Dan," she stammered.

"Really? Your superintendent told us you were dating."

"Mrs. Roach is an old witch, always snooping around, telling stories!" Sally sneered, "she should learn to keep her ugly nose out of other people's business!"

"All the same, Jones and I will have a quick look around your studio, miss," Abbie said.

Sally reluctantly got out of their way and they looked around. Abbie found Sally's messenger bag at the foot of the bed.

"Hey you can't do that! That's mine!" Sally cried seeing the Canadian woman going through her bag, ". . . I want to see a warrant! I know my rights!"

"A warrant? That's sweet," Jones said, "don't worry we'll return your bag once were done."

She hunted through the bag and hidden in a sea of make up products and other thing was charm a bracelet with the sliver charms D-A-N on it.

"That bracelet isn't mine!" Sally protested seeing what they had found, "I don't know how it got into my bag!"

"Look there's only so much bullshit we can take. Stop lying and tell us what you know!" Jones ordered.

She started to weep, "alight! Dan and I were dating! But I hadn't seen him in days, and I don't know who killed him!"

"You know, we never told you that Dan had been murdered," Abbie said suspiciously.

Sally gave her a death glare, "why else would you be here? Cops only pay attention to people like us when we're dead! Now GET OUT!"

They were pushed out of the room and Sally slammed the door shut behind them, shacking the pictures on the wall from the force. They headed back to the station to see what the others had found.

As the elevator opened they meet Alex who had been about to come out.

"Going down?" he asked as they got in.

"To Nathan," Jones conformed. Alex pressed the button and the three road down together.

"So, about that badge you sent me," he said.

"Did you find anything useful on it?" Abbie asked.

"It was covered in Dan's finger prints but only on the backside," Alex replied, "as if Dan had grabbed it during the struggle."

The elevator dinged and they got out on the basement floor.

"Anybody else's?" Jones questioned.

He shook his head, "but there was no hole in Dan's shirt which means he grabbed it off of his killer's clothes!"

They thanked him on a job well done as they entered the morgue. Nathan had just finished his work and was rolling Dan's body into storage. He whipped off the blood from his gloves and slipped them off.

"Namastē," he greeted pulling his apron and mask off.

"Do you have anything for us?" Abbie asked.

"I've got several things for you," he said, "Dan was stabbed several times in the stomach wit a sharp object, probably a knife. From the angel of the wound I can already tell you that your killer is left-handed."

"You can't seriously tell that from a gash can you!?" Alex wondered.

Nathan looked unamused, "I wouldn't work here if I couldn't. I also found some red hairs under Dan's fingernails. Needless to say, those weren't his. Which means your killer is a red-head."

"Well we better go talk too Chief before he has our heads," Jones said leaving the two experts in the morgue. Him and Abbie road up to the top floor and found Chief King waiting for them at their desks.

"Jones stop leaving cookies crumbs all over you keyboard," he ordered shaking it over the garbage bin to clean out the keys.

Jones ran his hand through his hair, "sorry sir, I'll try to be more careful next time"

"You better, so how is this case going? Have you found Dan's killer yet?"

Abbie shook her head, "it's a slow start, Chief. We found Dan's girlfriend Sally and we know that his killer is a left-handed red-head but that's pretty much it."

"At least we can rule out Gloria she's right-handed," Jones said, "not that she was a likely suspect anyway."

"Likely suspect or not, a good police officer fallows ever lead, never forget that Abbie," King said smiled lightly, "now, I would like you both to have another look at the crime scene. Dan died in front of an open container, you might find more clues there."

"Were on it!"

They drove to the loading docks and navigated to the crime scene. They found the opened container and started to look around and in it for anything strange. Abbie got to her knees and saw a brunt cigarette butt by the corner of the container.

"Jones!" she called.

"A cigarette butt? Didn't James say nobody ever comes here?" he thought back, "let's have a closer look, it may well be interesting."

They managed to find a couple usable finger prints on the cigarette and sent them off to Alex to find their owner. They didn't have to wait long before he summand them to his lab for the results.

"The fingerprints you found on that cigarette butt match those belonging to a certain James Smith," Alex told them.

"Oh," Jones looked dejected, "I had been hopping for something different . . . but you know, this cigarette is the perfect opportunity to put some pressure on James. He looked right fidgety when we first talked to him, and I don't think it had to do with the fact he discovered the body. I'm sure he's keeping stuff from us."

It wasn't hard to find James at the shipping yard; he was leaving the main building when they arrived.

"Care for a cigarette?" Abbie asked holding up the bag with the burnt stick in it.

James gulped, "y-yes I smoked that cigarette while waiting for the police to show up after I found the body. Am I going to get a fine for littering?"

"Contaminating a crime scene is a serious offence," Jones informed him, "but we might forget about it. If you cooperate. Are you a righty or a lefty James?"

". . . I'm right-handed, but, what's that got to do with the dead guy?" he asked.

"Let us worry about that. Now, are you  _sure_  there's nothing you'd like to tell Detective Abbie?"

"I, un . . . well there is one thing, like, that I found. Next to the body. Maybe . . . maybe you need it?" he pulled out a drug package from his hoodie pocket and held it out.

"I knew it! Either it's a drug package or I'm the queen of England. Can you make out what it says?"

"Let's find out," she said walking back to the car. She used the hood as a table and decoded the words "DOG-KTX-2ED" written along the edge of the package.

"Nice! I just wish the code on that drug package wasn't a total mystery!" Jones said looking at it.

"Do we have some way of tracking it?" she asked.

"We do . . ." he looked upset at this thought, "I guess we have no choice . . . we must go see Bart."

"Bart?"

"He's our snitch in Caribou Corner; knows everything that's happening down there," he clenched his fists, "its just he really, really gets on my nerves! Cocky son of a-"

"But anyway!" Abbie cut off the swear, "maybe we should have a better look at Sally's studio. She's clearly keeping stuff away from us."

"Alright," Jones calmed down, "we can do it on the way."

They headed down to Caribou Corner and went up to Sally's studio apartment. They knocked on the door but received no answer. Abbie tried the knob and found it unlocked. They entered and found no sign of Sally so they took the liberty of searching the place. There were a pair of sneakers at the foot of the beat with fresh dirt caked on the soles.

"That dirt is still fresh," Jones said, "I wonder if they've been worn . . . what do you say we find out Abbs?"

"I think that's the best idea I've heard all they," she replied scrapping a sample of dirt from the sneakers into a petri dish.

They left the apartment building and walked down the street to an alleyway. Leaning against the back-stair rail of the shop's back door was a lean young man with curly brown hair and a bomber jacket.

"Bart, we need you help," Jones said the words like he was spitting out acid.

"What do I get if I help you out?" he asked cockily.

"I can't tell you that, but I can tell you what you won't get; my boot in your face."

". . . alright, show me the code," he grumbled, they showed him the package and he grinned, "oh yeah, I know this, that's Bulldog's handle! He mostly deals in Oakville alley, behind Kempe's Barbershop."

"One last thing," Abbie said before Jones could flee from the alley, "that badge, on your jacket. Where did you get it?"

"What, this?" Bart tapped the skull badge, "dude, everybody, wears them, its the latest fad. You really need to get updated."

"Thanks for the info Bart," she said fallowing Jones back to the car.

"You know," the man said once the car was driving to Oakville, "I really wish Bart was a red-head . . ."

"Why?" Abbie asked.

"Because he's left-handed of course! That and red hair would have been enough to get him a few hours behind bars as a suspect," he said diabolically.

"Jones!"

"Ah. . . if only . . ." Jones sighed, "anyway, let's go see this Bulldog he told us about!"

They parked in front of the barbershop that Bart had directed them to and rounded into the long alleyway between the shops. Near the end of the alley was a blurry man with red hair leaning against the dumpster smoking a cigarette. He flicked it onto the ground and grounded it with the toes of his boot.

"I take it your Bulldogs?" Jones asked keeping an meter of distance between them.

"Who's asking?" the gruff voice inquired.

"Detective Jones and Detective Abbie of the GBPD, we need to ask you a few questions regarding the murder of Dan Broke," he replied, "he was found this morning at the docking yard with one of your packages near his body."

"Wait, so some stupid junkie's found dead miles away from here with a piece of paper . . ." he repeated, "how exactly is this suppose to implicate me?"

"Don't play smart with me, Bulldog! We know you were Dan's dealer!"

"Oh really?" Bulldog whistled, "do you see drugs on me? What kind of moron do you think I am?!"

"A pretty big one," Jones spat, "now step aside. We need to take a look around this alley, or should I say your "office?"

Bulldog shrugged and headed out of the alley the opposite way. The two detectives started to examine the area and found a bloody poster pinned to the dumpster opposite the one the drug dealer was leaning against. Abbie collected a sample to send to the lab.

In just a few hours they were called down to Grace's lab for their results. She ushered them over to her computer monitor and pulled up the results.

"So, I had a look at that soil sample you took from Sally's shoes and compared it to samples taken from the docks and found similarities . . . but there's something more troubling," she pulled up a blood match profile, "I also found traces of Dan's blood in the dirt."

"So not only was Sally with Dan when he died-" Abbie realized.

"-but she may be his killer!" Jones finished, "I think she has got some explaining to do."

"And that blood from the alley? The tests are positive: the blood is Dan's," Grace told them, "you got your primary crime scene guys! Then was killed in Oakville alleyway, then dumped at the docks."

"Looks like Sally's not the only one who's earn herself another visit," Abbie said, "thanks Grace."

They hit Sally's place first and this time she was home when they knocked. She looked just as pleased to see them as the last time.

"Why wont you leave me alone?!" she demanded.

"Because we found out you were at the docks during Dan's death," Abbie told her bluntly.

Her eyes widened, "how did you-never mind. Yes, I was at the docks last night! I found Dan but when I realized he was dead, I freaked out! I ran away!"

"And you just happened to be at that godforsaken place at the exact time Dan was dying?! Come on, Sally!" Jones yelled.

"I-I-I got lost looking for him! I didn't hurt him okay? I loved him! Now leave me the fuck ALONE!!!" Sally cried slamming the door once again in their faces.

"I know I shouldn't make girl cry . . . but a little more of that and I'm sure she'll come clean," Jones said determined.

"I don't think she did it, she sounded sincere when she spoke of Dan," Abbie said skeptically.

"Well . . . maybe your right, but did you notice?"

"Notice what?"

"Sally's wearing her watch on her right wrist, that means she's left-handed!"

"I never understood how that determines what hand is dominate," she said climbing into the driver's seat.

They found Bulldog in the same location as before. He whistled at them when he noticed them coming his way.

"Oh looksie, here comes the Incompetent Parade," he snickered.

Jones glared, "look asswipe, your getting on my last nerves and I can guarantee you wont like me when I'm angry."

"Dan's blood was found all over one of the dumpster in your "workspace," Abbie informed him, "any idea how it got there?"

"No and I don't give a shit about it. Now fuck off!" he growled at her.

"This isn't over, Bulldog. One way or another I'll make your life a living hell!" Jones swore.

They marched out of the alley and back to their squad car with the drug dealer giving them a nice going away present curtesy of one of his fingers.

"Remember Abbie, getting suspects angry often yields interesting results," he told his young partner.

"Did you see which hand Bulldog gave us the middle finger with?" she asked.

He nodded, "he's left-handed!"

She drove back to the station and headed up to Chief King's office to update him on their case.

"Face, it officers," he said once he was brought up to speed, "you won't get anything more from Bulldog and Sally."

"What? No, we're so close!" Jones protested, "I'm sure we can make them spill the beans!"

"In a week maybe, but we don't have a week!" he reminded them, "no, what you need right now is a murder weapon!"

Abbie thought about it, "we should go back to the alleyway. Then was killed there so anything could be hidden in those dumpsters."

"I couldn't have said it better myself," King smiled, "now get to it!"

"Yes boss!"

They found the alleyway empty of the drug dealer and started to pull out the garbage bags from the dumpsters in which Then had been killed in front of. Jones tossed the bags out of the bin and Abbie routed through them for clues. He trough down a black bag and a shiny object caught her eye.

"Hold it!" she told him. She flipped the bag over and found a pocket knife imbedded in the bag. She drew it out and found that it was covered in dry blood.

"Jackpot!" Jones exclaimed seeing what she was holding, "a knife, and its got traces of blood on the blade! How much you want to bet its Dan's?"

"Nothing because its going to be his," Abbie smirked pulling out a dropper and set of slides from her bulky bag. She took a blood sample and inspected an engagement on the blade of the knife and her smirk widened.

"Look familiar?" she asked pointing to the pattern.

Jones squinted and grinned, "oh this is going to be good, lets have Grace analysis that blood first."

_One blood analysis later . . ._

"Please tell me you two have something good for us," Jones begged entering the lab. Grace and Nathan were both in there and nodded.

"The blood on the knife was Dan's," Grace said.

"But not only that, the blade matches the wounds on Dan's body," Nathan added.

"You've got your murder weapon!" she finished.

"Abbie, its time to put our killer behind bars!" Jones said.

They drove over to the murder scene and found their killer waiting for them at his desk.

"The game is over Bulldog," Jones told him unlocking his cuffs, "we know you killed Dan. Why you killed him however . . ."

"Thank punk had it coming!" Bulldog spat, "I told him it'd get nasty if he didn't pay me the $2000 he owed me!"

"Its going to get even nastier for you at least," Abbie said.

Jones slapped the cuffs on his wrists, "Bulldog, you're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a Court of Law . . ."

_In said Court of Law . . ._

"Silence in the Court!" Judge Hall ordered banging her gavel, "Mr. . . . Bulldog, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Fucking lawyer said it all, didn't he?" Bulldog look board sitting there, "I'm a victim of circumstances! That crazy junkie came at me with his fists, I had to defend myself!"

"You ought to take this more seriously!" she scolded, "you took a human life! Does that mean nothing to you?"

"Yeah, does it mean nothing!?" Sally echoed bawling her eyes, "how could you!? He was going to pay you back! He just needed a little more time!!"

Bart and James, who were sitting on either side of her, had to both hold her back as she tried to jump over the guard rail to get at her boyfriend's killer.

"I swear, I will kill you for this Bulldog!" she thundered, "I WILL KILL YOU!!"

"Young lady, calm down," Judge Hall soothed, "there is no need for further bloodshed."

She turned to address the accused, "Bulldog. For the murder of Dan Broke, the Court thereby sentences you to 20 years to life!"

"For doing this city a favor? You're going to cry for a fucking parasite?!" Bulldog yelled, "Burn in hell, all of you!!"

"Officers, take this man away!" Judge Hall ordered, "Court is adjourned!"

They dragged Bulldog out of the Courthouse while the rest exited through the main doors.

"Well, that's one murderer out for good, hopefully," Jones said climbing into the car, "I think we handled that pretty well, don't you Abbie?"

"Yes," she agreed starting the car.

"What do you say we go out for a cup of coffee?" he asked, "the donuts are on me!"

"That is so cliché," she teased but still drove over to a local shop that sold both.

They ordered a box of donuts, a chocolate for Jones, vanilla for Abbie, Boston crème for Alex, jelly for Ramirez, strawberry for Grace, sour crème for King and a cinnamon for Nathan, plus a cup of coffee for each. Abbie carried the donut box and one of the drink trays while Jones carried the rest. They headed back to dispense their treats to their team mates.

They knocked of Chief Kings door last and entered with his permission.

"We got you a donut and coffee, boss," Jones said handing him the items.

"Thank you, you two," he said accepting them, "splendid job on that case as always. However, don't forget that your working for the citizens of Grimsborough City. I'm sure some of them still need your help."

"Want to bet which one comes to us first?" Jones asked biting his donut.

Abbie sipped her coffee, "hum . . . I say James."

"Next round of coffee and donuts is on the loser."

King shook his head, "can't you ever think of anything besides your stomach, Jones?"

He flushed, "he, he, sorry boss. We'll get back to work now."

They didn't have to wait long for someone to come see them. Not even a half hour later Ramirez escorted James into the room and directed him to the detectives' desks.

"Officers I really need your help here!" James pleaded desperately.

"What's wrong James?" Abbie asked.

"You guys have completely shut down the docks, but I lost my delivery form there!" he cried jittery, "how am I supposed to keep my job if I don't know where to go?!"

"I see," Jones said, "we'll see what we can do, ok? Abbie can you go with James to the docks while I finish up the report for King?"

She nodded and James breathed a sigh of relief. He drove over to the docking yard with the detective trailing behind him on her bike. She led him over to the area he had pointed out of where he thought her must have lost it.

Abbie searched the area still taped off by the yellow police tape. She looked around the crates and containers before peering into the open container. She saw the soggy paper on the floor of the container and picked it up.

"Is this your form James?" she asked holding it out for him to see.

"Yes, it is, thank yo-oh crap!" he exclaimed taking in its wet appearance, "this paper is soaked through, I can't read the delivery address! What am I going to DO?!"

"Gee, you really need to chill out a little . . ." she told him, "ever thought of taking up yoga?"

"You don't understand; I could lose my job for this!" James persisted, "fuck, I'm dead, they'll fire me this time for sure!"

"Alright just take a few deep breaths, I'll try to decipher your address for you."

It took a few minutes before she managed to find the address to be 125 GB AV. She wrote it down on the sticky note and gave them both to the barge driver.

"Here you go James," Abbie said, "that's the address you need."

"Phew! You just saved my neck! Thank you!" James said.

She smiled, "no problem, have a nice they."

"You too."

They went their separate ways and Abbie reeved her bike up to drive back to the station. On the way, she passed Sally's apartment building and decided to check up on the young woman. She knocked on the door and Sally answered it looking slightly distraught and ticked off.

"Not you again!" she cried, "what, are you here to tell me someone else I loved just died?!"

"No Sally, I just wanted to check up on you and see how you were holding up," the Canadian woman told her.

Sally began to cry, "I'm not holding up! I can't even find those stupid antidepressants that damn doctor gave me! I-I-"

"Listen," Abbie cut her off, "why don't you go for a nice long walk, get some fresh air? I'm told I have a sixth sense for this kind of thing. I'm sure I can find your pills while your gone."

"You'd do that for me?" she asked in surprise, "thanks."

After Sally had gotten changed and left for her walk, Abbie began to search around the small studio for the antidepressants. She found nothing in the bathroom cupboards or the bedroom dresser so she hunted around in the small corner kitchenette for them. She saw that Sally had yet to unpack her groceries and though to look in the paper bag for the pills. Sure enough at the bottom of the bag was a small orange pill bottle with white pills inside.

Abbie thought about leaving a note with the pills for Sally but remembering Dan's past she wanted to make sure the pills really were antidepressants. She took a couple from the bottle to have Grace analysis and rushed them to the lab.

She ended up driving around the industrial area while she waited for the results to finish. She turned into Caribou Corner and saw Bart standing at the end of Bulldog's old alleyway. He flagged her down when he spotted the motorcycle and she parked in front of him.

"Oh great, just the woman I needed!" he said once she pulled off her helmet. "I've lost my wallet; you've got to help me get it back!"

"And why exactly would I help you with that?" she asked.

"Oh, come on!" he yelled, "you know the Vipers are heavy in these streets! They tolerated Bulldog, but they never exactly warmed up to me. I don't want to die for a freaking wallet!"

"Your lucky I'm more willing to help then Jones would be," Abbie said climbing off the bike, "you better have something good for me in exchange."

Bart nodded rapidly, "I will, I will!"

She smiled and brushed past him to search the alleyway for his wallet. It wasn't too hard to find the black leather wallet near the garbage bags scattered on the ground. She picked it up and headed back over to where Bart was waiting.

Abbie held out the wallet to the Police Informant, "it really is your lucky they, I found your wallet."

Bart grinned, "thank you."

"So . . . what's the information you got for me?"

"Oh, your going to like this," he dug around in his wallet, "here we-oh shit!"

"What?"

He pulled out a torn photo, "I  _was_  going to give you this . . . but it must have gotten ripped when I put it in here."

"Let me see," Abbie said extending her hand. Bart shrugged and gave it to her, she got out her roll of tape and had the picture of a Viper restored in a flash.

"You are good," he commented, "but anyway, that's the Vipers new leader, Salvador Cordero, he was only recently appointed but he's already made big changes in the Industrial Area so I'd watch out if I were you."

"I'm tougher than I look," she smirked playfully, "but thank you Bart,"

They parted ways just as Abbie's cellphone started to ring.

"Murphy," she answered.

"Hey Abbie, its Grace calling," the forensics expert replied," I got your results, the pills really are antidepressants, the girl didn't lie."

"Thanks Grace, I owe you one."

They hung up and Abbie drove over to the apartment building just as Sally was returning from her walk.

"Where were you?" Sally asked watching her got off the bike, "did you find my pills?"

"I did don't worry," she said handing her the bottle, "I told you I would. Just be careful with the dosage, yes?"

"I will, don't worry. I think . . . I think I'm going to go to my parents for a little while," she said, "get away from this all."

"Good for you," she reached into her pocket and pulled out a charm bracelet, "I got this out of evidence for you."

The red head gasped taking it in her hands, "this was the last thing he gave me . . . you don't know how much it means to have it back."

Abbie smiled, "I hope it turns out well for you Sally and I'm sorry we were so hard on you during the case."

"Its alright," Sally assured her, "thank you so much for everything! And please, take this, I-I forgot Dan wasn't here to eat it when I bought them."

She gave the detective a paper bag with a candy shop's logo stamped on the front. Abbie accepted it and said goodbye to Sally. She drove back to the station and meet Jones coming out of the building.

"It took you that long to find James's delivery form" he asked glancing at his watch.

She shook her head, "no, I stopped by Sally's and gave her a hand, and then I had to find Bart's wallet. By the way, this is the new leader of the Vipers."

She handed him the picture and he looked it over.

"His name is Salvador Cordero," she told him.

Jones nodded, "we'll need to inform the Chief about this."

"Agreed."

Chief King listened to them as they told them abut the new Vipers leader. When they had finished he remained silent for a while, finally he took a deep breath and let it out.

"This would explain why the Vipers have become more and more violent," King said, "if this keeps up and Salvador remains in power, this district could be destroyed."

"Don't worry Chief," Jones said, "we'll keep our eyes open for any reason to detain Salvador."

He nodded, "good, now go home, get some rest. You two have done enough for today."

"Yes boss."


	6. The Start of a Beautiful Friendship

Abbie admired the forest as she walked along the trail going through it. She had heard that it was a beautiful trail to walk, especially during the summer and she had decided to go today to check it out. She saw all kinds of spices of trees and bushes along the trail and birds chirped in the sky above her. A few times she had heard a growl or another animal noise but nothing came close enough to her to be seen. She veered off the path wanting to see what she could find in the giant woods.

She discovered a river flowing through the ground and fallowed it until she reached the wide lake. She gazed at the view before her and marvelled at it beauty. She was just about to head back the way she came when she heard a whimpering noise.

She looked around for its source and saw a mound resting in front of a large oak tree. A much smaller form was shifting near it and as she drew closer she saw that it was a puppy and its mother.

The mother was a large fully grown German sphered sleeping on its side. A puppy, only even two weeks old at the most, was curled up under its mother's chin whining in pain.

Abbie crouched down and realized that the mother wasn't sleeping, she was dead. She felt the dog's head and decided that she had only recently passed away. She looked at the puppy who had trained its large brown eyes on her.

"Come here pup," she whispered softly as to not frighten the baby any more. The puppy reluctantly humbled away from its mother's body and into the detective's hands. Abbie cradled it close to her chest with one hand and used her free one to untie her running sweater from around her waist.

"Easy little one," she soothed as she carefully wrapped it up in her sweater to keep it warm. "There you are, I'm sorry about your momma, I'm sure she took care of you till the end. She's at rest now, but let's get you some help, yes? For her, I know she would have wanted her baby to live."

Abbie headed back the way she came and quickly found the trail. She walked it slowly this time as to not jolts the puppy in her arms to much. She hummed a soft tune to the dog as she walked to calm it down. At some point, it had fallen asleep in her arms and she smiled.

_'CRACK!!'_

A twig snapped shortly from where she was walking and Abbie whipped her head around to see what it was. She just caught a dark blur of movement in the trees and waited to see if what ever it was would come back. After a few minutes and nothing happened, she causality started walking back to the city.

It wasn't hard to get into see the veterinarian, the office was empty so the receptionist directed Abbie straight down to the examination room. The Vet gave the puppy a trough examination and proclaimed that the dog was in no danger.

"It's a full breaded German Sphered, only two weeks old, as you had guessed," the Vet told her, "it's a girl and from what I can tell, her mother nourished her until she died. Now we can either send her straight to the pound-"

"I'm going to keep her," Abbie announced.

He smiled, "I had a feeling you would. Now, she won't be able to eat solid food for a few more weeks, we will give you a formula she will need at lest three time a day. Make sure she stays warm and give her a bath once you get home. I'll also prescribe her some supplement drops and I want you to bring her back I about a month."

"Thank you," she said grabbing her new puppy. She went back to the recipients who found her everything the Vet had ordered along with a collar, a large dog-bed, food and water bowls and a navy-blue sweater with the words K9-UNIT stitched on the back.

"Ah . . ." Abbie said seeing it.

The receptionist laughed, "we keep these for the new police dogs, don't worry, its on the house."

"Actually, its on my dog," she joked.

The other laughed, "true, now. What's this little doggy's name?"

She looked down at her new puppy, "Hunter."

"Well, I hope you two have fun together."

"Thank you."

After paying for everything and gabbing the bags, Abbie headed back to her hose to set it up for Hunter. She placed the bags on the ground and went straight for the tub. She turned it on to lukewarm water and filled it with a few inches of water and soap. She lowered Hunter into it and gently scrubbed away all the dirt and grim that had caked onto her fur. Once she was clean she dried her off with a fluffy towel, she carried her downstairs and placed her on the couch.

While the puppy took a nap, Abbie set up the dog bed in her bedroom, the bowls, one filled with water, in the kitchen and put the formula, bottles and supplement drops on the counter.

She was mixing up a batch of formula for Hunter when her doorbell rang. She shook the bottle with the mixture as she opened it. Jones and Nathan were on the other side and looked down in confusion at the bottle in her hand.

"You have a baby?" Jones asked dumfounded.

She laughed, "no, this is for Hunter."

"Who?" Nathan asked.

She let them in and pointed to her couch, "this is Hunter."

"Aw!" he said seeing the puppy who had woken up to see what all the fuss was about, "she's cute!"

"Thank you," Abbie beamed, "I found her this afternoon out in the woods, her mother had died and I couldn't just leave her."

"Well no," Jones agreed, he spotted the sweater the dog was wearing, "you took her to Dr. Koi?"

"You know him?"

He laughed, "do I! he takes care of all the police forces animals, they're also the only ones that charry those sweaters."

"Well he said there's nothing wrong with her," Abbie told them, "she just need to be bottle fed for a few weeks and then can go to solid food."

"Do you know how to feed her?" Nathan asked.

"I'm assuming just like a baby, which I've never done" she confessed.

"Here," he said holding out his hand for the bottle, "I'll sow you."

Abbie passed him the bottle and he sat on the couch net to Hunter. Nathan lifted her into his arms and cradle her like you would a baby and brought the bottle to the puppy's mouth. Hunter started to lick at the formula that dripped from the nipple of the bottle.

"Whoa," she said impressed, "if I didn't know any better I'd say you've don this before."

Nathan chuckled, "maybe I have."

"So," Jones said, "are you going to train her?"

"Of course! She's going to be my partner! Along with you of course."

"Good, I don't want to be replaced by a dog."

"By the way," Nathan said, "we had come by to tell you that the team was invited to a retirement party for one of the sergeants, do you want to come?"

"Where is it?"

"At his house, he as a back yard so Hunter can run around."

"Alright," she decided, "let's go!"


	7. A Russian Case

Jones, Abbie and Hunter entered Chief Kings office. Their boss had sounded panicky when he had summoned them about their newest case.

"Detectives, and dog, we have a serious situation here. Anton "White Bear" Levin, the Russian Mafias leader, was killed in his restaurant!" King informed them, "if we don't find the killer really soon, we'll have a bunch of bloodthirsty Russians on our hands! You two are our best shot, so handle this caustically but quickly!"

"I see . . . no presume," Jones joked.

"We'll do our best Chief," Abbie said, "let's go straight to the crime scene before any of his henchman can mess it up."

They hurried over to the scene and found the restaurant closed off to the public. The public mostly consisted of who they assumed to be Anton's henchman who were trying to break through the barricade to get inside. They entered the restaurant to a quitter environment and found Ramirez and Nathan inside. The later examining the corpse while the field officer stood guard.

"What a mess!" Jones said looking around, "Levin's been reduced to a pulp! The killer obviously held serious grudges against him."

"It could be a robbery turned ugly," Ramirez suggested, "I checked the register and its empty."

Nathan shook his head, "ugly is an understatement in this case. No, the killer wanted to do just this. Kill this man, they didn't care about money, my guess is the contents from the register are in a safe somewhere or at the bank."

"I agree with Nathan on that," Abbie said looking at the wounds on the Russian's forehead, "did you find anything else?"

"There was a cellphone on that table over there," Ramirez pointed to it, "unfortunately it was smashed but it still works."

Abbie picked it up and pressed the home button, "of course its locked."

She hooked it up to her laptop and tried the new code breaker program on it. It only took her a few seconds to guess the code and she smiled delight.

"Who even designed this program?" she asked.

Jones rolled his eyes, "I think you mean "who designed this game."

"It was Alex," Nathan supplied, "when he was asked to make it, they should have realized that as a gamer, he would have made it fun."

"Well it is," she said, "and speaking of, now that its unlocked we can send the cellphone over to him to see what he can salvage."

"And we looked up the victim's information, ha has a son named Mikhail," Ramirez told them, "he's got an apartment at 35 Sparrow Ave."

"We should go tell him that his fathers dead," Jones said, "don't you think?"

"You guys good here?" Abbie asked.

"Well be fine," Nathan said.

"Don't worry about a thing here!" Ramirez assured them.

They left the scene and went to find Mikhail to inform him about his father. They found the slightly run-down apartment easily enough and when they rang the doorbell a young man with visible scratches on his chest answered it.

"Mikhail Levin, were sorry to inform you that your father was found dead this morning," Abbie broke the news to the son a gently as she could.

"What?! Ah! Good riddance!" Mikhail sneered, "that  _svoloche_  sure didn't see that coming!"

Jones raised an eyebrow, "wow, you're a cold one for sure!"

"My father and I didn't get along, he never considered me worthy of anything," he snorted, "but that old bastard regrets not having me by his side now."

"Any idea who could have killed him?" Abbie asked.

"Not a clue, but you better find his killer before I do. Even if I hated him, he was still my father and his death can't stay unavenged!"

Mikhail stormed off down the hallway to the kitchen leaving the detectives alone in the porch.

"That was weird," Abbie said.

"Yeah," Jones agreed, "he looks like the guy that would be effected more by a puppy's death than his father's!"

'I would . . .' she thought, "let's take a look around his place."

They searched the living room for anything that could be of importance. Hunter barked to get their attention, she was sitting on the floor with a torn-up box in front of her.

"Good girl!" Abbie praised, "you first clue!"

"Damn, that dog is smart," Jones mutter in an undertone.

She pulled out the roll of tape from her bag and pieced back together a female pregnancy test box.

"Somehow, I doubt this is Mikhail's," she remarked showing him.

"A female pregnancy test box? He didn't mention having a girlfriend," he recalled, "you know what, Abbs? It's a long shot, but we should ask Mikhail about her. She might be more willing to talk then him."

As he was saying this, Mikhail came back into the room with a glass of a clear liquid.

"Your still here?" he asked.

"Mikhail, do you have a girlfriend?" Abbie asked hiding the pregnancy box behind her back.

"Ya, I got a girlfriend, Eva," he replied, "not that its any of your beeswax. She just came back for work if you want to bug her too."

"We will," Jones promised, "what about those scratches on your chest?"

The Russian smirked, "that's Eva's job, I like it rough!"

He left the room again and a second later a tall African-American woman came into the room. She had on a long beige coloured shirt with black leggings underneath and was trying to hid a set of scratches underneath her black scarf.

"Eva, we are investigating the murder of Anton Levin," Jones told her.

"Anton's dead!" she exclaimed.

"We take it you knew him well?"

"What? No..." she looked embarrassed, "we only met once, before Mikhail and him stopped seeing each other. Anton was a little extravagant but . . . nice."

"Yeah . . . I'm sure he would have been the "perfect" grandfather," he snorted, "your expecting, right? we found a female pregnancy test box."

"That's none of your concern!" Eva fumed, "so if your done being nosy, I've got to go."

She marched out of the apartment and slammed the door shut behind her.

"That was an interesting reaction," Abbie said having been silent the whole interview.

"Compared to Mikhail, she seemed rather shaken by Anton's death," Jones said, "and did you see the scratches she was trying to hide?"

She nodded, "I wouldn't be surprised if he was hitting her."

"Well that's all for now."

They left the apartment and climbed back into their squad car. Jones's phone rang from inside his pocket and he pulled it out to read the text.

"Alex wants you to video chat him," he told her.

She nodded and slipped her laptop out of the bag and set it on her lap. She opened the video call program and after a few seconds of ringing Alex's face appeared on the screen. Jones leaned over to get a better view of the expert over Abbie's shoulder.

"Well, guys, I identified the phone as belonging to your victim," Alex started off, "and you won't believe what I found!"

"What?" Abbie asked.

"This," he pulled up a digital copy of a picture on the screen next to himself. The picture was grainy and hard to make out but they could tell that it was of two men standing in front of a window talking. One of the men was just in the light enough to be seen.

"What the . . . a picture of Tony Marconi?!" Jones stammered, "and who's the man he's speaking to?"

"No idea," the gamer said, "I couldn't find the guy in our database."

"Don't worry, I'm sure Marconi will be happy to tell us about his friend," he said, "time to pay him a curtesy visit!"

"Your definition of a curtesy visit is different form mine," Abbie told him, "thanks Alex, see you later."

"Bye," he replied signing off.

Jones fired up the engine and speed over to the Blue Flamingo Club. When they stepped inside Marconi rolled his eyes when he saw them coming towards him.

"What do you want you two," he asked, "miss me already?"

"You shouldn't smile, it makes you all wrinkly," Jones growled, "now, who's they guy on this picture?"

He shoved a copy of the photo that Abbie had printed on the drive over into the gangster's face. Marconi smacked the hand away irritated.

"I don't remember, so now you can take it and shove it," he spat in the officer's face.

"Thanks for the help, Malfaiteur," Abbie told him dragging Jones out of the bar by the collar of his shirt before he could attack the older man.

"That son of a bitch!" he yelled kicking the hubcap of their car, "but I know him better than he thinks and he clearly didn't expect us to have this picture."

"Jones your beginning to sound like your obsessed with this guy," Abbie told him crossing her arms.

"I'm sure he has something to do with Levin's death!" he insisted.

"Well unless you can prove it he stays in the clear," she informed him opening the passenger side door and shoving him inside before getting in behind the wheel.

They got back to the station just as Jones finished cooling off. They found Nathan was waiting for them in their office when they got back.

"I've counted 36 oddly shaped wounds on the body, but couldn't figure out what weapon was used," he told them.

"How many tests did you run to figure that out?" Jones teased.

Nathan smirked, "you just wish you could help me. But anyway, judging form the penetration angle, I can say your murderer is 6'0" tall. Also, I found some skin cells under is fingernails. Obviously, Anton died fighting. The sample is useless but it shows your killer will have scratches."

"Scratches you say?" Jones thought about it, "interesting, it will make or killer's profiling a lot easier."

"But a lot of them have scratches on them," Abbie pointed out, "even Malfaiteur had some on him, not that you noticed."

He winced, "alright . . . I guess I should lighten up a little with him . . . but the identify and motive of Anton's killer are still a mystery. Even if we know Marconi is somehow involved, its not much of a lead."

Nathan leaded down over and whispered in Abbie's ear, "he's like a dog, give him a bone and he'll chew on it forever until its gone."

Hunter barked at the mention of a bone and they chuckled. While Jones was still scheming over how to incriminate the Italian gangster, Ramirez came into the room.

"Hey guys, what about Bart Williams?" he asked.

"What about him?" Abbie asked getting her partner's attention back on track.

"He's been dealing close to your crime scene these days. He might know something," the field officer said.

"Oh, come on Ramirez . . ." Jones groaned, "Bart is a pain in the ass. Every time I see that kid, I come closer to losing it and whacking him."

Abbie cleared her throat and shot him a glare.

He gulped, "but . . . I guess we don't have any other option right now. Let's go Abbie!"

They drove around the block of their crime scene looking in the alleyways for their informant. They found him a few streets over and parked in front of his alleyway. Bart waved at them as they got out of the squad car.

"Bart," Abbie greeted holing out the picture, "do you know who this man is with Tony Marconi?"

"The guy in the picture?" he asked taking a closer look, "he was one of Levin's henchman."

"You don't know his name of course . . ." Jones glared annoyingly, "since you hang around here, did you see anything the night of the murder?"

"Maybe I did . . . I guess you could "refresh" my memory . . ." he taunted the cop patting his wallet.

"Bart, your ass is about to get a fresh memory of my foot. So, cut the crap already!"

"Okay, okay calm down!" he smiled sweating nervously, "all I saw was someone dropping some stuff into the sewers outside the restaurant and running away."

"The sewers," Jones deadpanned, "it just had to be the swerves."

"Well we better check it out before we lose any important evidence," Abbie said, "thanks Bart."

"No problem," he said backing down the alleyway away from the inspector.

They walked across the street after retrieving their breathing gear from the car trunk. Jones lifted the manhole cover with a crowbar and they climbed down the ladder into the mucky sewers.

"I swear, if this punk sent us off-track he's going to get it!" Jones promised, "I hate sewers . . . let's try to find something in this mess before I get sick."

Abbie rolled her eyes, "this is why we have masks."

They slipped their breathing masks on and looked around the area near the entrance for anything that could be tied into their case. They found an expensive looking gold watch and a grumpy black leather wallet floating in the water near to it.

"We should examine this watch," Abbie said looking it over, "it defiantly doesn't belong in the sewers."

"Eew . . ." Jones whimpered opening the dripping wallet, "yup, this is Levin's wallet alright, according to what's left of his ID . . . you know, you should probably take a shower back at HQ . . ."

She glared, "you don't smell like rose either."

He looked at his slug covered shoes, "good point . . . let's walk back. The squad car is impossible to clean the smell out of."

They climbed out of the sewers and replaced the cover over the hole. They took the less populated rout back to the station and in that time Jones found a Blue Flamingo Club invoice in the victim's wallet and Abbie pulled out small strands of black hair from the watch's face. They decided to talk to Marconi about the invoice later after they had washed up and dropped the hair off with Grace.

They road down to the basement where some of the showers were held. They spilt off into the separated shower stalls and closed the doors. They took quick but through showers scrubbing at their skin till it was almost red before drying off and changing into Grim PD issued clothing.

Jones emerged in a pair of black pants, a replacement blue shirt plus tie and a spare pair of running shoes. Abbie had a replacement black shirt and pants with another pair of purple running shoes.

They walked back to the Industrial Area and retrieved their squad car before going to visit Marconi. As always, they visited him when there was no one else to be seen in the club.

"My favorite cops," Marconi drawled seeing them again, "and what can I help you with this time?"

"We found an invoice issued to your club in Levin's wallet," Jones showed him the them piece of paper, "and I doubt  _he_  signed it."

"Oh no, you got me . . ." he said mockingly, "I've done some business with the Russians, big deal. I'm gonna start thinking you really like me, if you keep coming to see me for no reason . . ."

"Ok, cut the crap "Mario"! We want to know whose signature this is!" he exploded like a firecracker.

"Jones-" Abbie tried.

"I guess you'll have to find out for yourselves, pig," Marconi spat grinding his teeth so hard she could almost hear them. He stormed off into his office sambaing the door shut behind himself.

"He wants to play?" Jones growled, "We'll show him how its done! Let's go back to HQ and analyse the crap out of this invoice!"

He copied the Italian gangster's moves and stormed out of the building leaving his partner and Hunter alone by the bar. Abbie sighed and pulled out her mug and pushed the button to open it. She put it to her lips and tilted her head back and whined when she discovered it was empty.

"Just when I needed some coffee . . ." she pouted. As she slipped the metal canister into her bag a glass mug filed with a dark liquid and topped with whipped cream and maple syrup slid across the bar top and stop just in front of her.

"On the house and zero alcohol," Marconi told her poring himself a glass of gin, "your partner is a bit of a . . . bastardo."

"I don't even have to ask what that means," she said sliding onto the bar stool and lifted her puppy onto the one next to her, "he probably already left for the station."

He sipped his drink, "he's a pig-headed one, that's for sure. Can't settle for just a simple solution."

"Nope," she agreed taking her own sip of the hot coffee, "he's a good detective but . . . he has to learn that not all cases can be solved by brut force and getting angry."

"He'll learn that when he least excepts it," Marconi agreed, "but at least one of you can keep a clear head."

"Yes," Abbie said downing her drink in one go and licking the whipped cream off her mouth.

He chuckled, "a true Canadian lady."

She smirked back, "and a true Italian gangster."

He took her glass and bid her goodbye. She left and just as she had guessed, Jones and the squad car were no where in sight. She sighed and started the long walk back to the station.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time Abbie and Hunter got back Grace was waiting for her in front of the main doors. The red-haired woman let out a noise of relief when she spotted the Canadian woman walking up the sidewalk, the black hair coloured blowing in the breeze.

"Where have you been?!" she cried rushing down the stone steps to meet her, "Jones came back over an hour ago! He had me and Alex analysis an invoice and didn't bother to tell us why or where you were!"

"I was at the Blue Flamingo," she said pushing open the glass doors.

"By choice?"

She shrugged, "not really, he stormed off after our conversation with Marconi. Had to walk back."

Grace sighed, "that man . . . he just can't get past this obsession of arresting Marconi. Well, come on, we have the results on that invoice any way."

She led Abbie and Hunter to the forensics lab where Jones and Alex were waiting for them in the mist of an argument.

"-mean to leave her!" Jones was yelling.

"Well you did!" Alex snapped, he spotted thee three out of the corner of his eye, "there you are Abbs!"

When he said that, Jones's head whipped to look at the door so fast he got whiplash. He began to sputter out apology after apology to his partner but was silenced with a raise of her hand.

"You can stop right there," Abbie said, "I'm not mad, annoyed but not mad."

He sighed in relief, "that's good, I can handle you being annoyed."

"Good. So, what did you find out about that invoice?"

Alex jumped in, "the signature on the invoice belongs to a certain Dimitri Balanchine."

"And this Dimitri uses a lot of hand sanitizer," Grace added, "I've found traces of this product all over the paper! It's a detail but it may be important."

"He's probably the on in the photo!" Abbie realized.

"Your right, he might be our man!" Jones agreed, "I'll ask Ramirez to summon him for a little chat."

"Did you finish with those hairs we sent over?" Abbie asked Grace.

She nodded, "I'm positive the strand of hair you found on the watch belong to an African-American woman."

"Abbs, that can't be a coincidence. I'm sure this is Eva Coleman's hair," Jones said positively.

"If that's the case," Grace said, "she must have come into close contact with the victim for her hair to get stuck in his watch."

"Then she definitely knew Anton better then she made us believe," Abbie frowned, "we better confront her about this."

"Let's talk to Dimitri first then go see her," Jones suggested.

When Dimitri got there, they put him in the interrogation room. He was wearing a white business suite and already had dark gray hair. They showed him the picture of Marconi and the mystery man and asked if it was him.

"Yes. That's me on the picture," he confirmed, "so what? Marconi is a client like any other."

"Right! and I'm sure your former boss wasn't so happy to know you were doing business with his competitor," Jones reasoned.

"Walking about business, that's none of yours, officer."

"One last thing," Abbie said before a fight broke out, "how did you get those scratches on your cheek?"

Dimitri smirked, "I cut myself shaving. Now, feel free to waste someone else's time."

The Russian walked briskly out of the room before they could say anything else, thus ending the interview.

"That's just it!" Jones exploded truing redder than a tomato, "these mobsters are getting on my nerves, giving me attitude like this!"

"Arrêtez!" Abbie took hold of him by the shoulders, "Respire profondément! Profonde respiration."

"What . . .?"

"Stop exploding like a set of fireworks!"

He took a deep breath, held it, then let it out, "alright, alright . . . i'm calming down, ok? Geez . . ."

"Alright, good," she realised him, "come on, let's stop by the restaurant on the way to Eva and see if we can dig up anything about Dimitri's "business."

Abbie drove the squad car to Levin's Restaurant because she still didn't trust Jones to be behind the wheel of a vehicle just yet. She parked in front of the building and they went inside for a look. They check behind the bar and on the table tops before finding a ledger on one of the leaning against the flower vase. A bloody napkin was laying on the same table just a few inches away.

"A-ha!" Jones cried seeing it, "I'm sure this ledger will expose some dirty secrets. All the entries are coded, but I'm sure Alex will crack it!"

"While you call Ramirez, I'll collect a sample of the blood for Grace to analyses," Abbie said getting her tools out.

Ramirez arrived shortly and they filled him in on what they had found. He told them that the evidence was in good hands and that their other two team mates would get them in a flash. They thanked him and drove over to Mikhail's apartment and saw that his car was gone but Eva's was there. They knocked on the door and she answered it.

"We've got proof you knew Levin more than you claimed," Jones informed her, "it's time to tell the truth Eva."

"Shush! Someone might hear you!" she pulled them inside ad shut the door, "how did you . . . never mind. Anton and I were having . . . an affair. It's his child I'm expecting."

"Did he know?" Abbie asked.

"I told him the they he died, but Mikhail doesn't know any of this. I had planned to leave him for Anton, but now . . ."

"It will be alright Eva," she reassured her, "your secret is safe with us, we don't and won't have a reason to tell Mikhail about you and Anton."

"Thank you," Eva whipped her eyes, "I . . . I need to get something to calm my nerves."

The two officers quietly left the apartment and got back in their car. Abbie started its engine and they went back to the station.

"This case is really getting sordid . . ." Jones complained.

"What?"

"Sordid, you know, like dirty."

"Just say that next time, English isn't my first language," Abbie told him.

"Really? What was your first language?" he asked.

"Well it was a mix of French and Turkish so I'm definitely not familiar with the more complex English words."

"Well your pretty impressive for English being your third language," he complimented her.

"Thank you," she smiled at him, "and I never said it was my third language . . ."

Grace was already done analyzing the blood they had sent her, so they visited her first.

"Good insight, Abbie," Grace told her, "not only does the blood on this napkin belong to your victim . . . but it also contains traces of hand sanitizer! The murderer must have used some to wipe their hands clean."

"Great . . ." Jones didn't should so grateful, "just about everyone in town uses this product."

"Turn that frown up side down Jonesy!" Alex said strolling into the room, "it took me some time, and a few headaches, but I've cracked the ledger's code."

"What is it?"

"It's a list of orders and deliveries made by Levin's' Restaurant!" he informed them, "it looks like someone forged some of the ledger entries to cover up illegal transactions. What's more, the fake entries writing is the same as the one on the invoice."

"I knew it!" Jones did a little happy thence, "Dimitri was scheming with Marconi against Levin, who found out. Let's got put that under Marconi's nose and see here it goes."

He almost skipped out of the lab leaving he rest to watch him leave.

"Nathan was right about him being as bad as a dog with a bone," Abbie recalled the ME's previous words, and same as the first time, Hunter barked, "her you go girl."

She fed the dog a small biscuit before hurrying after her partner before he could leave her to walk to the gangster's club. When they found Marconi, they showed him the ledger with the coded entries.

"Your damn book proves nothing, detectives," he said flatly.

"Oh, but it does!" Jones persisted, "I don't know what your deal with Dimitri was all about, but Levin sure didn't like it!"

Marconi arched an eyebrow, "Russian vodka and caviar at a "fair" price for my club, that's it. Nothing illegal about that. What Anton thought about it was Dimitri's concern."

"Right . . . because you would never even think about disposing of a reluctant business partner . . ." he said innocently.

"Don't be a smartass!" he jamb the officer in the chest, "you'll never have anything against me, and you know it!!"

He had the bounder escort them out of the building and lock the door behind them.

"The only thing that disgusts me more then Marconi is this disinfectant smell he carries around!" Jones gagged just thinking about it. "Have you noticed the scratches on his chest? And I'm sure these don't come from bad shaving skills . . ."

"Jones . . ." Abbie warned.

"Anyway, I don't care what he says. We won't let him off the hook so easily as he thinks, right?"

She just sighed.

Once they were back at the station they recapped what they knew so far and updated and revised their suspects profiles.

"We have made some good progress," Jones said, "not only do we know that Marconi and Dimitri had motive to kill Levin."

"But that Mikhail also has a good reason to," Abbie pointed out, "that is if he found out about Eva and his father's affair."

He nodded, "however, we still have few elements. Maybe we should take a closer look at Mikhail's place."

"Good idea," she agreed and grabbed the car keys.

"I also have a plan to make Dimitri spill the beans!" Jones said as they were walking.

"Do I want to know?"

He hummed, "it's a surprise."

Abbie shook her head as she opened the driver's door. When they got to Mikhail's apartment they found no cars parked in the driveway. They tried the door and found it unlocked, did no one lock their door?

They looked around the coffee table in the living room. There was a small bottle of hand sanitizer falling in between the cracks of the couch cushions. On the arm rest of one of the chairs was an old car with the phone number scratched away in deep pencil marks.

"Well at least we now know that Mikhail and Eva both use hand sanitizer, but that's no big help," Jones grumbled.

"Oh, stop being so dramatic," Abbie groaned, "look on the bright side, maybe this old card will tell us more if we can salvage the phone number from it."

"Well you can do that while I interrogate Dimitri."

And that's what she did. Abbie worked to decider the phone number in the viewing room while Jones sat across from Dimitri in the interrogation room.

"We had a little chat with your friend Marconi," Jones sounded confidant in his lie, "he sold you out so fast we could hardly keep up!"

Dimitri snorted, "did you seriously think I'd fall for that? Marconi knows better than that."

Abbie rolled her eyes, "that was your plan?"

"Whatever you say," he said not letting himself sound disappointed, "we know of your deal with him. Anton was an obstacle you had to get rid of."

"Did I want his position? Yes. Did his death make my they? Defiantly," he said, "but such bloodshed? I'm more subtle when I "operate", and I'm definitely not stupid enough to leave a trail."

Feeling satisfied at humiliating the detective, Dimitri pushed his chair back and strutted out of the room briskly. Jones slammed him fist on the table top causing a sharp clanging sound to reverberate around the room.

"No offense," Abbie said over the intercom, "but that sucked."

"Damn that psychopath!" he cursed, "to smart for us huh? I'm ready to take another dip in the sewers to prove him wrong!"

"Oh joy . . ." she said, "let me drop this off with Alex and I'll met you at the car."

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When they climbed down the latter into the sewers the smell was still as bad as the first time. They searched at lighting speed and found a gold chain with its latch broken and a high-grade meat tenderise, its nails covered in blood. They got out as fast as they could with their clues before the smell got stuck on them.

"Great, we've got something at last!" Jones said looking at the meat tenderiser, "this meat tenderiser looks like it could be our murder weapon."

"And this gold chain might have belonged to our killer," Abbie said taking a blood sample, "let's get these to the lab."

They dropped the blood sample with Grace and the meat tenderiser with Nathan for analysis. They checked in with Alex and found him waiting for them with a grin on his face.

"Jones," he said, "you won't believe this: the phone number Abbie gave me belongs to Bart Williams'."

"What?! Sneaky little bastard," he barked, "this time I'm kicking his ass" Abbie. Let's go see him. You drive!"

Abbie sighed but fallowed him none the less thanking Alex for his work on the way out. Hunter hurried to keep up with her as she ran to the car where her partner was waiting for them. They drove over to the police informant's alleyway and found him counting some money.

"BART!" Jones yelled.

He looked up started, "what?! I didn't do anything! . . . yet."

"We found your phone number at Mikhail's! I swear brat, THIS is the last time you ever lie to me!" he spat grabbing the kid by the collar of his shirt and pushing him against the wall.

"Jones!" Abbie cried trying to pry him off the other man.

"Wow, easy now!" Bart said holing his hands up in surrender, "Mikhail's one of my best clients. I wasn't going to tell on him like that!"

"I don't give a crap! You speak now or I end your business once and for all!!" Jones threatened.

"Ok, ok!" he agreed, "Mikhail called me the other they, he was freaking out about his girlfriend's affair and needed a fix to relax."

Jones relished him and Bart brushed himself off.

"So, Eva was wrong," Abbie said sadly, "Mikhail did know!"

"He won't be able to deny it now," Jones said, "we should go talk to him."

Mikhail was home this time when they knocked on his apartment door. Thankfully Eva wasn't home because when they confronted him about knowing about Eva and his father affair, he exploded worse then Jones had with Dimitri.

"She cheated on me with my own father! He even got her pregnant!" Mikhail yelled furiously, "how would you react if it happened to you?!"

"I would be pretty mad I guess," Jones said faking sympathy, "mad enough to do something I'd regret . . ."

"You bet I was a first!" he said cooling down, "but it wasn't her fault. My father was a sick bastard, he made her do this!"

"So, you're not the least bit glad someone killed him?" Abbie asked.

"A little," he shrugged, "but sure, I'd gladly thank the guy that took him out!"

"We'll see about that . . ."

They got back to the station and headed down the hallway to the elevator.

"I'm sure we're close to solving this case, Abbs, but I don't know where to look for the last piece of the puzzle . . ." Jones sighed.

"Hey guys, I may have something for you!" Ramirez called rushing to meet them, "one of Levin's neighbors called the night of the murder to complain about a fight."

He held out a CD, "we could analyze the record, you know, like they do on TV."

"Your kidding?!" Abbie gapped.

"You had this from the beginning and only tell us now?!" Jones asked equally startled.

"It was an old woman yelling about a commies' invasion!" Ramirez defended looking nervous, "and you told me not to bother you with crazy people stuff . . ."

Abbie smiled, "its alright Ramirez, bring it to Alex and have him look it over, it could very well be a valuable piece of evidence.

"Ramirez brightened and saluted, "I'm on it Abbie!"

He hurried off to the tech geek's lab while the partners visited Grace first.

"The blood you found on the chain belongs to the victim," Grace said holding the gold chain up, "however, the diameter is too small for Levin's neck."

"So, he must have ripped it off his killer's neck during the fight," Abbie concluded.

"So, our killer wears a gold chain," Jones said picturing their suspects, "only Mikhail and Marconi wear one."

"Maybe Nathan has something for us with the meat tenderiser?"

"Maybe," he said, "let's go see."

Nathan looked up from his mug off coffee when her heard them enter his morgue. He turned around in his chair to face them.

"What you got doc?" Jones joked.

He rolled his blue/brown eyes, "funny. Unfortunately, the sewage washed off any fingerprints or usable sample from the meat tenderiser."

"But you still got something from it?" Abbie persisted.

He nodded, "the good news is, it matches Anton's wounds perfectly. You've found the murder weapon, good job."

"Thanks Nate!" Jones said, "let's just hope Alex has the last piece of our profile."

Alex worked his magic and finished analysing the recording just as they entered his lab.

"Abbie, Jones," he said, "you both owe me a round on this one! I've cleaned the recording and isolated two voices in the background, as well as fighting sounds. And guess what?"

Again no guessing.

"Both people on the tape were speaking Russian. Considering this happened right before Anton was killed . . . I can tell you with certainty that your killer speaks Russian!"

"As far as we know only Mikhail and Dimitri do," Abbie said.

"That's our missing piece of the puzzle, Abbs!" Jones said, "let me know when you want that drink Alex."

"Will do," he said.

They called Anton's killer to the station and sat them down in the interrogation room.

"The game's up Mikhail," Abbie told him reading the cuffs.

"We know you killed your father after discovering he had an affair with Eva," Jones added before the Russian could intervene, "I guess it's not the kind of "competition" you expected from him, right?"

"White Bear" my ass!" Mikhail yelled trying to get up but the Canadian woman heled him down, "my father was a pig! It wasn't enough for him to disown me, he had to make Eva his bitch!"

"All you've got to worry about now, is not to be your prison mate's bitch!" Jones laughed.

He cuffed the young man's wrists behind his back, "you're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a Court of Law . . ."

_In the Court of Law . . ._

"Now that all elements have been reviewed, does the defendant have anything to say?" Judge Hall asked.

"That swine can't touch my girl anymore where he is now, nothing else matters," Mikhail stated.

"I loved him you, sick bastard!" Eva cried, "he was a real man, not a whiny kid like you!"

"WHAT?!" he spat turning around to glare at her, "how can you say that?! You are a-!"

Judge Hall interrupted him, "silence, both of you! You clearly have no regrets for what you've done Mr. Levin. This Court herby sentences you to 23 years in prison for the murder of Anton Levin. Officers, take this man away! Court is adjourned!"

She slammed her gavel down and the court room emptied out. Jones found Abbie in the crowed of spectres leaving the hall and grabbed her arm before he lost her. They walked off to the side for a private conversation.

"That was . . . weird, don't you think Abbie?" he asked.

She nodded, "very."

"I really thought we could get Marconi this time . . ."

Before Abbie could say anything, a slow clapping cut her off.

"Bravo" Officer!" Dimitri praised haughtily, "you did a great job here, and a big favor to me . . ."

"Careful Balanchine!" Jones warned, "we'll be keeping a close eye on you."

"Sure," he said dully, "you two do that."

"Come on partner, let's get out of here," Jones said once Dimitri left, "I could really us a beer right now."

"Don't forget about Alex," Abbie reminded.

"Right," he winked, "the first rounds on you!"

The next they . . .

"You wanted to see me Chief?" Abbie asked entering his office.

"Yes, come in," he waved her inside. On she was in he pulled a paper form his drawer.

"Well done Abbie!" King told his detective as he flattened the paper out, "you did a heck of a job on that case."

"Thank you," she said smiling.

"But a cop's work is never done!" he told her, "you should make sure there is nothing else you can do for your former suspects and witnesses. Also, we've received complaints about The Levin's restaurant since Dimitri Balanchine took over it. You should check on that."

"Already?" she said, "hasn't had it a week and people are already getting sick."

When she relayed this to her partner, Jones leaped out of his chair and pronounced they would visit Bart first. Abbie thought he would have run to Dimitri after the humiliation he had suffered from the Russian's hands.

.........................................................................................................................

"Hey Bart!" Abbie called seeing the lanky man pacing his alleyway.

"Detective Abbie! Thank God you're here!" he said relief in his voice, "something bad has happened, I really need you help!"

"Geeze, calm down . . ." Jones said surprised, "what's the matter?"

"Some guy rough me up pretty bad outside the comic book shop. They threw my Reaper Jade action figure into the sewers!" he recounted his story, "and since detective Abbie and you know the sewers well enough . . . I figured you could help me get it back."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he asked, "you want us to go back down there for a stupid doll?"

"Jones," Abbie said, "it's a collector's Action Figure."

"See? She gets it," Bart said smugly, "look . . . if you help me, I'll give you a hot piece of information that will make it worth your while!"

Jones sighed, "fine . . . well go look for you "Action Figure" in the sewers."

They walked a few blocks to find the entrance to the sewers. Jones lifted the cover and they climbed down the later rungs. Thankfully for their noses the action figure laid broken in pieces right next to the latter. Abbie collected all of he pieces before scurrying up the ladder to the fresh air.

"Drats!" Jones said when he saw the state of the action figure, "the doll is smash! If we give it back in this shape that nerd's going to melt down. But I'm sure you'll be able to fix it in no time, Abbie."

She rolled her eyes but set to work. The Reaper Jade figurine had a lot of small detail pieces but Abbie got them all back in place and glued together. She even touched up the paint job in some places where it had chipped away.

"Well done, you are handy! The doll looks good as new!" Jones said seeing her finished master piece, "still, I wonder why Bart is so attached to it . . . we should hand it over to Alex to make sure there's nothing suspicious about it."

"I can tell you there not," Abbie said, "but if it will help, we'll give it to him first."

"Good, now let's go see Dimitri."

The Levin's Restaurant had the closed sign flipped over but the door was still unlocked. They strolled inside the now clean seating area and Dimitri looked up from the register.

"We meet again, Balanchine!" Jones greeted, "we've had some serious food poisoning complaints. You're gonna get it this time!"

"Is this not the Health Inspectors job?" he asked, "what a petty task for such "brilliant" cops . . ."

"We'll do what ever it takes to shut down your business, Balanchine!" he promised.

"Knock yourselves out and search the restaurant then," Dimitri said giving them free range of the space, "and since you like to get your hands dirty, don't forget the trash on your way out."

He took the contents of the register out and left them alone in the restaurant to do their work. Jones search the kitchen while Abbie checked the tables. She listened to her partner banning around in the kitchen while she found a dirty plate that the buss boy missed. She collected a sample of the food residue in a test tube and waited for Jones to come back.

When he didn't look happy, "the kitchen is clean."

"The dining room," Abbie said holding up her sample, "not so much."

Jones brightened, "this is great! If this sample is contaminated, then we got Dimitri!"

She rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, "a thank you would have been nice."

They dropped the stuff off before heading over to Eva's apartment. She opened the door looking flustered.

"I'm so glad to see you officers," she said ushering them inside, "I can't find Anton's chain bracelet, although I've been assured it has been returned."

"Do you have any idea where you could have put it?" Abbie asked.

"No, I'm sure Mikhail took it and hid it from me somewhere in the apartment," Eva said infuriated.

"Don't worry miss!" Jones reassured her, "if the bracelet is here, detective Abbie will find it in no time."

"Oh, thank you so much for taking the time to help me," she said, "I'll just be in the kitchen if you need me."

As she left, Jones and Abbie looked around he sparse room for where their Russian killer could have hidden a chain bracelet. In the corner behind an ironing board sat a safe with an electronic lock.

"I'm sure we'll be able to find the chain bracelet in the safe," Abbie said pointing it out.

"If we manage to open it," Jones inspected the lock, "ready."

"You know it," she smirked waving him out of her way. She sat in front of the small safe and attached her lock hacking device to the key pad. It was about the size of a calculator with a number key pad and an alphabet key pad, once it had scanned the lock it guessed the four most likely codes and a picture to match them to. She had it unlocked and removed her device before opening it and unleashing a waterfall of jewelry.

"He's worse than a squirrel with nuts," she said rifling trough the jewelry.

"I'll say, Mikhail sure does love shiny jewelry . . ." Jones agreed, "look at this stuff!! Good luck finding a single sliver bracelet in all of this mess."

She pulled out the chain, "can you say "Lady Luck"?"

"Oh, come on!" he threw his hands up, "do you have X-ray vision or something?"

"Just keen eyes," she said standing up, "let's give this back to Eva."

"Did I hear me name?" Eva asked coming back in with a mug of tea.

"I believe this is for you," Abbie held out the simple chain.

"Thank you so much officers!" she said accepting it, "at least Anton's son will have a token of his father. I don't even know how to repay you."

"Don't worry miss. Performing our duty is reward enough," Jones assured her.

Eva thought about it, "oh, I know . . . why don't you take this? Mikhail won't need it anytime soon."

She dug around the pile of jewelry and pull out two items. She handed Jones a sliver and copper pocket watch and Abbie a beautiful Russian broach with a picture of the Kremlin towers in the center.

"Thank you, Eva," Abbie said pocketing her new broach, "you are going to be a great mother."

She blushed, "than you, have a nice they."

Afterwards they headed back to the station. They check in with Alex first and found his staring that the Reaper Jade action figure intensely.

"Well, Alex?" Jones asked getting his attention, "have you found anything about this "action figure?"

"I have indeed . . ." he said sounding ominous, "it's freaking AWESOME!!! I checked the serial number, and it turns out to be a very limited edition! No wonder Bart is crazy about it!"

"Nerds . . . nerds everywhere . . ." he muttered.

"You just don't understand the significates of a good comic book," Abbie patted his shoulder.

Jones shook his head, "come on, let's give it back to Bart."

It took some coaxing to get Alex to give up the action figure, but he caved when Abbie promised to take him to the comic book shop after work. As they were leaving his lab they ran into Grace.

"Abbie, Jones, I've got some good news!" she said happily, "the food samples you gave me are clean!"

"Dammit! I can't believe this obnoxious douchebag is getting out of trouble again!" Jones cursed his luck.

"Uh . . . Jones . . . should you not just be happy people won't get sick after eating there?" Grace asked.

"Mmph . . ." he grunted, "I guess you right . . ."

"Come on Jones," Abbie grabbed his arms, "let's go tell Dimitri the good news."

"Yeah, "Good news" . . ."

Bart was waiting for them in his alleyway when they got there. Abbie held the action figure in her hands while Jones talked.

"Here is your doll, cry baby," he said as Abbie passed it to him, "we had to wade through some stuff that would give you nightmares to find it. It'd better be worth it!"

"Oh, thank you so much! There's not even a starch on it!" Bart said inspecting it, "deals a deal! So here is what I heard: there is a lot of tension between Salvador Cordero, the Vipers leader, and his second in command, Ash Bison. Cordero wants his gang to wage an open war on the Skulls, but Ash is opposed to it. You should keep a close eye on them . . ."

"Thank you, Bart," Abbie. The informant nodded and left.

"The sewage stench is going to stick to me for a month . . ." Jones grumbled, "but the information we got was worth it! We'd better keep these gang scum on a short leash!"

"But for now," Abbie said, "we have a Russian mobster to talk to."

He grinded his teeth but fallowed her across the street non-the less.

"Well, Officers?" Dimitri asked once the entered.

Abbie nudged Jones, "wo found nothing suspicious . . . but you won't be so lucky next time! Come on Abbie, let's get out of this rat hole . . ."

"Don't be a sore loser, Jones," he said, "I'm sure your partner at least will appreciate a fine meal, wont you Detective Abbie? No hard feelings, its on the house."

"I would be delighted, Dimitri," Abbie answered. Jones nearly busted a vain but turned on his heels and walked out.

Dimitri raised an eyebrow, "is he really going to leave you?"

"Don't worry, I can have my friend pick me up," she climbed onto a bar stool and placing Hunter on the stool next to her, "so, what's the special today, chef?"


	8. Good Cop Dead Cop

"Detective Abbie, Detective Jones," King entered their office space looking solemn, "I have terrible news."

"What is it?" Abbie asked.

"Detective Ed Dunkin was just found dead in the Queen Street subway station," he informed them.

"Dead! What . . . how did this happened?" Jones asked in shock.

"This is what I'm counting on both to figure out!" he ordered, "if there is a cop-killer in this town, we need to catch them fast!"

Abbie nodded, "we'll start by going to the crime scene and seeing what we can find."

"Good."

The drive to the subway station was in silence between the two partners. This would be there first murder case involving someone they knew as the victim. Ed had been a model cop for all the new recruit and even the older ones. He hed few cold cases and one of the highest arrests in his career.

They walked down the steps of the underground subway station and found the poorly lit room gloomy and the air tense. No subway cars were at the loading docks and officers milled about each casting sad glances over to the rails where Nathan was crouched down. Jones and Abbie walked over to him and saw that he as staring at Ed's dead body which lay in its back on the tracks.

"Seeing Ed's body laying here is really sobering," Jones said.

"We must keep our focus Jones," Abbie said swallowing her grief.

"Right," he nodded, "well need those autopsy results as soon as possible, Nathan."

The coroner drooped down onto the tracks, "I'll work overtime if I have to."

They left him to load his body and looked around for clues. There wasn't much of interest in the station but there was a trash bag that hadn't been thrown out with the rest. Abbie dumped the contents and found a blue Grim PD USB key in it.

"What is a police USB key doing in the trash?" she asked showing Jones.

"There's no way it got there by accident," he agreed, "let's just hope Alex can salvage what ever info was on it."

"I'll give it to him when we get back," she said pocketing it.

"It'd probably be a good idea to go talk to Harry Landry, too," Jones said not seeing the man that, "I don't think you've ever met him? He was Ed's partner."

"Well let's go find him."

It wasn't hard, he was waiting for them in the lobby for when they got back to the station.

"Hey, Harry," Jones said, "were sorry about Ed."

"Ya," he said heavily, "hazard of the job, still . . . I can't believe he's gone."

"Do you know who Ed might have been with last night?" Abbie asked.

"No, I don't know who Ed met up with last night. If I did, I'd be arresting their ass right now!" Harry spat, "look, Ed could be really private, go off on his own. Heck, maybe he was on a case and didn't tell me!"

"Ed's desk is on the third floor, right?" Jones asked, Harry nodded, "Abbie we should go have a look around."

"Key, don't keep me out of the loop okay?" Harry begged, "I'll be around, just keep me updated."

"We will tell you everything we can," Abbie assured him, "Jones, you head down to the third floor, I'm going to drop that key with Alex."

He nodded and they went their spate ways. Abbie and Hunter climbed up the stairs to the top floor where the tech lab was. As they near it she slowed her walk hearing noises from the room.

"I'm gonna beat you!" Alex yelled, "this time  _I'll_  win!"

"No!" a child's voice yelled back, "I'm gonna win! I  _always_  win!"

"But I'm the one with a license!"

"So?!"

Abbie stopped in the doorway and took in the sight that greeted her.

At the far wall Alex had placed on of his large monitors on a low table and had hooked up one od his game console to it. Mario Cart was on the screen in two player mode, Yoshi vs. King Boo, with the dinosaur in the lead. The two bean bags were in front of it, one containing the tech expert and the other a small child.

The kid was a young boy, no older than five, with chestnut coloured skin and messy chocolate brown hair underneath a pair of headphones. He wore gray shorts and a red shirt and sneakers. A black Grim PD ball cap sat on the floor next to him. When Yoshi crossed this finish line for the final lap the kid jumped up in excitement. Alex grumbled and slipped off his and the kid's headphones.

Abbie cleared her throat causing the to turn around.

"Puppy!" the kid exclaimed as he put his hat on and saw Hunter. He rushed over and held his hand out. Hunter head-butted it and the boy eagerly petted her.

"Hey Abbie," Alex said, "sorry, didn't hear you come in."

"Its alright," she said, "who's . . .?"

"Oh, right," he slapped his forehead, "Avi? This is Detective Abbie, she works with uncle David, Abbie, met Aviskar Douglas."

Avi looked up with large green eyes, "nice to met you, your pretty, what's puppy's name?"

"Hunter," Abbie said giggling at the rambling.

"Nice to me you Hunter!" he said to the dog, Hunter barked in greeting.

She looked at Alex, "why do you have a kid?"

He blushed, "he's not mine! He's Nathan's! Since he's working overtime, he asked Chief King picked Avi up from daycare and then he dropped him off here. This kid's the only one who can beat me in video games."

"Nathan's a father?"

"Well . . ." he leaned, "actually Nathan's a mother."

"Oh, I didn't know he had a kid," Abbie said watching Avi play with her dog.

Alex shrugged, "he'll probably will be mad that I told you, we didn't find out for almost a year when he first started working here."

"Dose that make you my auntie, Abbie?" Avi asked suddenly.

"Ahh . . ." she looked to Alex for help.

"Yup!" he replied, "Avi this is your aunt Abbie!"

Avi lit up, "I get another aunt!"

"Yes, you do," Abbie said, she turned to Alex, "I came here to give you this."

She gave him the USB key, "this was found near Ed, can you salvage something from it?"

"I'll try," he said looking at it, "come one Avi, I need my assistant on this one!"

"Yeah!" Avi said scrambling to get a stool.

Abbie laughed as she left to go meet up with Jones on the third floor. Jones was waiting for her by the deceased cop's desk and the rest of the worker on that floor had vacated the space, unable to watch them investigate the murder.

"What took you so long?" Jones asked when she came over.

"I become an aunt," she said.

"What?"

"I meet Nathan's kid," she elaborated.

"You meet-shit! You met Avi?!" he asked wide eye, "oh, Nathan doesn't let anyone know about him until he's ready to tell them! Oh, he's going to kill Alex, and me!"

"Why? Avi's a cute kid, he shouldn't be a secret," Abbie said rummaging through Ed's drawers.

Jones sighed, "look . . . its not my place to say why Nathan does what he does, truth be told I don't really know. But . . . Avi wasn't planed, that much I do know. He had him young and still feels that people will think less of him when they find out."

"Well I don't think of him any differently," she found a piece of paper torn up on top of some files, "what is this?"

He looked at it, "this looks like an arrest form. But why would Ed tear it to shreds? This doesn't make any sense."

"Only way to find out is to put it back together," she said grabbing the tape dispenser off Ed's desk.

"Your right, it may give us Ed's last "customer."

Once it had been piece back together they saw that it was an arrest form for a man. Nothing seemed wrong with it, all the information was filled out and seemed correct.

"Well now that we can see who it was issued to we might be able to find out why it was turned into confetti," Abbie said.

"Ha! Zeus," Jones snorted, "he's a local pimp, although he likes to call them "callgirls." Let's ask him over for a chat."

The pimp sat in the integration room with an air of cockiness around him. Abbie slid the arrest form in front of him to see.

"Any reason this was used for confetti?" she asked crossing her arms.

"I sure hope that arrest sheet was torn up!" Zeus laughed, that was part of our deal: Ed would make sure I didn't get sent to the joint . . . and in exchange I'd let him have some fun with my girls, free of charge."

They looked at him with matching expressions of disbelief on their faces. That just made him laugh harder.

"No need to look at me like that, coppers!" he said, "maybe you just didn't know the guy as well as you think you did . . ."

"Get out of here Zeus!" Jones ordered. The pimp held his hands up in surrender and strutted out of the room. "He's lying; he must be . . ."

"Well find out the truth, Jones," Abbie assured him, "let's go see what Alex has for us."

...................................................................

"Uncle David!" Avi cried when they entered the lab.

"Hey little man!" he said scooping the kid up in his arms, "what do you have for us?"

"Me and uncle Alex found a bad man!" he said grinning proudly.

"Did you now?" Jones looked at the tech expert, "and just who is this bad man?"

"Well for starters, that USB key didn't agree with its stay in the trash," Alex said, "but Avi and I managed to restore on file: the police records of a certain Angelo Martinez."

"Hm . . . that names sound familiar . . ." he said shifting Avi's weight to his hip, "I know! He's the scum we booked a while ago for organizing dogfights! He lives near by, let's go say hello."

"Can I come?" Avi asked.

Abbie shook her head, "no, we need you here to help Alex with his investigating."

The kid shrugged, "ok."

Jones put Avi down and the kid scurried back up his stool to get on level with the computer.

Jones was right about Angelo living near by, he was so close they just walked a few blocks to the apartment. The man who answer the door almost slammed it in their face when he realized they were cops. Only Jones's foot prevented that from happening.

"Angelo Martinez?" he asked, "we found you name on a dead officer's USB key? Care to explain?"

"So, you found my name on a dead cop's key," he shrugged, "big deal."

"Yes, big deal! Its pretty clear Ed was investigating your dogfighting ring," Jones said, "is that why you killed him?"

"Him? Investigating me?" Angelo asked, "are you sure we're talking about the same guy? Fuck, Ed was one of my best customers! Didn't miss a fight!"

"Suuure," he smirked, "and detective Abbie and I deal dope when were not on the job. Don't we, Abbie?"

"I sure don't do dogfights," she glared concisely moving in front of Hunter.

Angelo glared back, "whatever. Now, I got work to do."

He shut the door in their faces and left them to walk back to the station. When they got there Avi was sitting with the receptionist talking a mile a minute. The receptionist, Pauline, just smiled and nodded her head here and there to show she was listening to his rambling.

"Oh, hello officers," she said once they came in, "look who's here Avi."

"Uncle Dave, auntie Abbie!" he turned and saw them, "can we go see mommy?"

"Sure bubby," Jones said, "let's go."

Avi rushed ahead and hit the elevator button, Jones pulled out his phone and sent a warning text to Nathen to make sure the body wasn't in out in the open.

The ride down was quick and when the door opened Avi burst out at top speed for the morgue. Thankfully the doors slide open fast enough for him and he hurtled inside with a cry of "mommy!"

Nathan laughed as his kid tackled his legs, "Namastē, kaddoo, I heard you were helping uncle Alex."

Avi nodded rapidly, "yeah! I help him find the bad man! And I beat him in our race!"

"I'm sure you left him in the dust," he said adjusting the ball cap, "now, mommy as to tell uncle David what he found, alright?"

"Okay, but you got to tell auntie Abbie too," he said sounding stern, as stern as a five-year-old can.

Nathan smiled, "her too. Now, go in my office for a minute."

Avi went in to the small office with Hunter trailing behind him. Nathan stood up and turned to the officers waiting for him.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly.

Jones waved it off, "don't be, Avi comes first. So, what do you have for us?"

He sighed, "I hate seeing colleagues end up on my table. You better stay safe Abbie."

"I will," she said.

"What about me?" Jones whined.

He rolled his eyes, "I've told you that too many time and you ever listen. Now, judging form the angle of the wound, Ed was kneeling down when he was shot. Which also means his killer is about 6'3"."

"Kneeling down? You mean he was executed?" Abbie asked.

Nathan nodded, "even if he was, he fought back: his knuckles are scraped. So, unless your killer is made of steel, they're walking around with a nice bruise on their face!"

"Executed," Jones shook his head, "he didn't deserve this."

"No one does," Abbie put her hand on his shoulder, "so let's give him justice by finding his killer."

He nodded, "right."

Once in their office space, Ramirez came in looking flustered and embarrassed.

"Detective Abbie, there's a . . . a prostitute . . . who claims she's got info about Ed's killer," he said blushing.

"A prostitute?" Jones repeated, "I bet its Ginger! With luck, she can give us a physical description of our culprit!"

"She says she saw them throw their gun into the river, in front of Dock 15," Ramirez said looking over his notes, "King wants you to go have a look there."

"Good job Ramirez," Abbie said getting up.

"Oh, and guys," he said before they could leave, "Harry Landry also wants to speak with you."

"Alight Ramirez," Jones said, "send Ginger up, please."

The Mexican man nodded and left to find the woman. A few minutes later a beautiful woman with a pin up style look came in wearing a red dress and black heels. She flashed a dazzling smile at Jones when she saw him.

"Hello David," she said with the voice of a true southern bell.

"Detective Abbie, I don't think you've met Ginger?" he said smiling back, "she's an old friend. Always willing to help."

"You bet I am gorgeous! As soon as I heard gunshots in the subway yesterday, I knew to keep my eyes peeled," she said confidently, "some guy came running out a second later, straight for the river. I only had time to notice his eyes; y'know I have a weak spot for blue eyes."

"Hehe . . . yeah . . ." Jones said dreamily, "anyway. So, our killer's a man, and he's got blue eyes! Thanks for your help Ginger, it won't be forgotten!"

"I know it won't gorgeous," she blew him a kiss, "it was lovely to meet you Abbie."

"Same with you, Ginger," the detective smiled.

The hooker left the room and left Jones with a look of admiration on his face. Abbie snapped her fingers in front of him to break the trance.

"Uh, what?" he asked.

She smirked, "someone's got a crush!"

"What are you talking about?" he looked away red faced, "come on, we got to talk to Harry on our way out."

They ran into Harry on the second floor.

"I heard you've been talking to Zeus and Martinez," he said once they were close, "I hope you didn't trust a word they said!"

"Why?" Abbie asked, "what do you think they told us?"

"I . . . I don't know! But I know their type," he insisted, "they'd say anything to make us look bad! Look, I just don't want you to forget who the criminals are here, that's all."

"Well keep that in mind Harry," Jones promised. The detective nodded and left them to their work.

"That was weird," Abbie said.

He nodded, "hm, I wonder what that was about. And whether we should trust Harry or our suspects . . ."

"I think we should trust our crime scenes right now," she said.

"Yeah, they'll reopen the subway station to the public soon. Care to go have one last look?"

"Let's head there first."

\----------------------------------------------

They ducked under the yellow tape still roping off the area and headed down into the still dime subway station. The ground had almost been completely whipped clean of everything so there wasn't much to look at save for some pieces of paper on the ground. Abbie looked them over and picked up on that peeked her interest.

"What did you find?" Jones asked, "a betting ticket?"

"Appears to be," she said looking it over.

"Look, Abbie, I know we're desperate for leads, but picking up random trash? Seriously?"

She smiled, "I think this will be a good lead, all we have to do is send the print from it to the lab."

"Whatever," he said.

She found a few usable fingerprints on the slip for them to send to Alex for tracing. Jones looked over the ticket again once she was done.

"Hey, I hadn't seen that this betting ticket was for dogfights!" he said, "I shouldn't have doubted you."

"No, no you shouldn't have," she smirked.

"Sorry," he apologized, "let's just go for a swim."

They drove over to the river and found Dock 15. They changed into their wetsuits and diving equipment and took the plunge. They swam to the bottom of he river where an overturned car was berried up to his bumpers. Behind on of the wheels was a hand gun. They retrieved it and headed back to the surface.

"Bingo! Your vision is just as good underwater!" Jones said, "I just hope the tests prove this is our murder weapon, else we've just gotten wet for nothing."

They dried off the best they could, before going back to the station. They checked in with Alex to see what he had found.

"Well, Abbie, you've got good instincts," Alex said, "the prints on your betting ticket are a match with Ed's!"

"So, Ed did gamble,  _fuck_ , I can't believe this!" Jones cursed, "we need to figure out who took his bets!"

"I'm one step a head of you," he said, "his bookmarker was Freddie Whitmore."

"Know where to find him?" Abbie asked.

Alex nodded, "he has a lottery shop over on Moosejaw St. he uses as a cover for his bookmarking."

"Time to pay the man a visit."

They found the small corner shop easily with the "Whitmore Lotteries" sign above the door. They entered the shop and found long counters displaying lottery tickets and pictures of whiners along the walls. A man in a black polo shirt was behind the counter checking the weeks winning numbers.

"Freddie Whitmore?" Abbie asked.

"That's me, want to buy a ticket?" he asked putting the paper away under the counter.

"No," Jones said, "we need to ask you a few questions regarding the murder of Ed Dunkin."

"Fuck! Ed's dead?!" Freddie gapped winded eyed.

"Yes, and we found this ticket near his body," Jones showed him the slip, "we don't give a shit about your scam, but tell us what you know about Ed."

"Straight to the point, I like that!" he snorted, "Ed bet mostly on dogfights. He kept other cops off my back, and I made sure he didn't lose to often."

"Did he bet on anything else?" Abbie asked.

Freddie shook his head, "no, dogfights were his thing. Nothing else gave him the adrenalin rush like they would."

"Thank you, Freddie," she said leading her partner out of the shop by his arm.

"He's the third person to tell us Ed was as bent as they come," Jones sighed deeply, "we cannot ignore this any longer . . ."

"Let's go back to Ed's desk," Abbie suggested, "it there's any truth to what our suspect claim, there should be some proof there."

He nodded numbly and they headed back to search their dead co worker's desk.

The room was still empty when they got their so they set to work searching the area for any proof of their suspects claims. Jones found a slip of paper with a phone number scrawled crossed it and a red lipstick kiss on top of it. Abbie removed one of the drawers form the desk to search through.

"Some how I doubt this phone number was given to Ed by his wife," Jones said, "let's track its owner."

"First, let me see what I can find in here," she said pushing aside the papers, highlighters and other supplies around until she found a cigarette pack hidden away in the far corner, "Ed smoked?"

"You found a cigarette pack in Ed's drawer?" he tilting his head, "that's strange. I remember him yelling at smokers for "polluting his fucking air!"

"Hold on, there's something written on the inside," Abbie squinted to read the messy witting, "Warehouse 10, 4pm. Mean anything?"

"This all sounds familiar . . ." he mused over the info for a second, "I know! That's how that scum Angelo gave his customers the place and time of his dogfights!"

"I'll have Ramirez call him in," she said standing up, "let's go visit Nathan and then Alex while we wait."

They rode down the elevator to the morgue and found Nathan and Avi sitting on the floor playing with building blocks. The gun they had sent him sat on the middle autopsy table.

"Hey Nathan," Jones said as they entered, "nice tower Avi."

"It's a castle!" the little boy insisted.

"It's a very nice- Hunter! Don't-!" but Abbie's command came too late. The puppy saw her new friend and barrelled towards him knocking over the blocks in her hast to tackle the small boy. Avi didn't seem to upset by this though, he welcomed the shower of sloppy kisses with a fit of laughter.

"Oops, sorry about that Nathan," she apologized for her dog.

The ME waved it off, "Avi would have knocked it down eventually. But you're here for the gun, right?"

"What did you find?" Jones asked.

Nathan stood up and moved over to the gun, "alright. I compared a bullet fired from this gun with the one I found inside Ed's body, and the tests are clear: this is your murder weapon."

"That's great," Abbie said.

"As for who it belongs to . . ." he showed them the side of the gun, "someone as tried to file off the gun's serial number, but you might be able to complete it."

"Let me see," Abbie said politely. Nathan handed it to her and she used a magnifying glass to enhance the numbers. She wrote what se could make out on a tag and tied it to the trigger guard of the gun.

"Let's get this serial number to Alex along with the phone number," Jones said putting the two in bags.

"Mommy! Mommy! Look what I made!" Avi squealed tugging on the end of Nathan's lab coat. The three adults looked over and saw that the kid had built a dog house out of his building blocks. Hunter was inside admiring the place.

"You kid is speedy Gonzalez," Abbie decided, "he built that in such a short time."

Nathan smiled, "I prefer to call him Roadrunner."

"Meep! Meep!" Avi giggled.

"Well can the Roadrunner run these up to uncle Alex?" Jones asked holding out the bag.

"Yeah! I can do it!" he said seriously giving a mock salute.

"Alright, these go straight to uncle Alex," the detective ordered, "and remember no-"

"No trading them for candy!" Avi finished, "you can count on me sir, uncle Dave, sir!"

He rand out of the door almost crashing into Ramirez who was about to enter. He veered left just missing the field officer and pressed the up-elevator button.

"Hey Avi!" Ramirez called, "running missions again?"

"Yup!" the kid grinned, "for uncle David and auntie Abbie!"

"Alright," he chuckled, "don't run anybody over."

"I won't! Bye uncle Eddy!"

Avi entered the elevator and stood on his tip toes to reach the top floor button. The steel doors slid close and the car rode the cable upwards. Ramirez entered the morgue with a smile still on his face.

"Angelo Martinez is here," Ramirez told them, "I put him in your interrogation room."

"Thanks Ramirez," Abbie said, "let's go see what he has to say about Ed now."

They got to the room and Jones slapped the cigarette pack onto the table with enough force to rattle it.

"Let's cut to the chase," Jones said leaning on his hands in front of Angelo, "we found the place and time for your next dogfight in Ed's desk."

"And that's a surprise because . . .?" Angelo asked getting ticked off, "for fuck sake, Ed loved those fights! Of course, he had that info!"

"Well then, maybe he was starting to lose interest," Abbie suggested, "so you killed him before he became a problem."

"I hated that bastard, I'll grant you that," he smiled coldly, "a bent cop is still a cop. But kill him? I had nothing to gain from that."

"Well some one did," she said standing next to him, "and we intend to find out who."

"Good luck with that," Angelo stood up, "I'm outa here."

They let the man go freely and checked in on Alex in the Tech lab for their gun and phone number.

"Hey Alex, hey Avi," Abbie said as they entered, "did you find out who the phone number belongs to?"

Alex nodded, "its so easy its almost boring. The phone number you found on Ed's desk points straight to one of Zeus's you know whose."

"Wait, why would Ed have you know whose number?!" Jones knitted his brows, "I think Zeus is due for another interrogation."

"No arguments here," Abbie agreed, "what about the gun?"

Alex avoided eye contact, "I've got good news and bad news. Which one do you want first?"

"The good news," Jones said, "for a change."

"We found your cereal's number," Avi said happily.

"The bad news is that the gun was Ed's," Alex said gloomily, "which means your killer was cleaver enough to use a weapon we could never trace back to him."

"Son of a-" Jones was cut off by Abbie slapping her hand over his mouth.

"Young ears present," she whispered into his own ear.

"Sorry," he mumbled behind her hand. She removed it and they left to talk to Zeus.

..............................................................

"Any reason we found your callgirl's number on Ed's desk?" Abbie asked the pimp.

"See? Old Zeus was telling the truth after all!" he flashed his pearly white teeth, "yes, that phone number was given to Ed by one of my girls."

"If you think this is getting you off the hook, you got another one coming, Zeus!" Jones warned, "did Ed start wanting more? Was he hurting your girls? Is that why you decided to get rid of him?"

"Ha, I'd rather kill myself then kill Ed!" Zeus barked, "he was the only reason my girls weren't being busted by the rest of you!"

"Then they better be careful," Abbie warned, "the rest might not be so ignorant of their work."

"I'll be sure to warn them," he promised. They sent him away and headed over to their office.

"I remember when Ed became a cop here," Jones thought back to the they, "he always went on and on about our "duty" and how the law must be upheld . . ."

"Well, you won't make me believe that Harry had no idea about all this," Abbie said nodding towards the blond detective coming in.

"Hey, Harry!" he called, the other man walked over, "we've had some proof of Ed being a bent cop."

"So, Ed wasn't Cop of the Month, so what?" Harry asked, "are you trying to ruin Ed's reputation, or catch his killer?"

"Are you seriously telling me that you thought knowing about Ed's accomplices didn't matter?!" Jones demanded, "get a grip Harry!"

"Ed's got a family!" he reminded them, "I didn't want them to think of him as a bad man, a cheater! He was my best friend!"

"Then why didn't you stop him?" Abbie asked glaring daggers.

"I tried! But he wouldn't listen!" Harry yelled, "he never, ever, listened!"

"Well he defiantly won't be now," Jones folded his arms.

Harry glared one last time before storming out of the office, brushing past Chief King at the door frame. King looked at his detective in confusion before turning to his top team.

"I'm still waiting for your report on Ed's murder, Abbie," King said not seeing the file in her hand or on the desk.

"Well, the thing is Chief . . ." Abbie looked to Jones for assistance.

"We're a little stuck," Jones supplied, "Harry stormed off when we told him we knew his partner was bent, and-"

"Ed? Bent? This is a serious accusation!" he said sternly, "I hope you're not throwing it around lightly, officers."

"It hasn't been mention out side of the team," Abbie told him.

"I doubt Harry will accept too corporate any further after this," King mused over it in his head, "you two should go back to the river. We know Ed's killer threw his gun there, nut he may have dropped something else."

"Leaving now."

They got to the docks and changed into their scuba gear and breathing tanks. They dived into the water and swam to the bottom where the submerged car was. They moved around and found a broken CCTV camera in the sand, they collected the pieces and swam to the surface. They dumped the parts on the docks before climbing on themselves.

"This surveillance camera comes from the subway!" Abbie said regaining her breathing, "look, there's even the station's name on that piece."

"Normally I would laugh at whoever took it," Jones confessed pulling his goggles off, "but the subway system hasn't been renovated in years and I'm pretty sure those cameras don't transmit there feed."

"Well if I can fix it up, then we could check what's on it," she said grabbing her kit from the car, "if it ended up in the river, then chances are it caught the killer on tape."

"Go for it," he said stripping his suit off.

She took it piece by piece gluing and soldering the parts together to form the camera. She flicked the stitch and the red light blinked to life.

"It still works!" she called over.

"Good job," Jones said taking it, "let's get it to Alex and see what he can salvage."

"I'm changing out of the suit first," she declared.

One wet camera analysis later . . .

"All I've got to say it that your lucky to have me," Alex announced entering the office, "giving this broken, soggy camera to anyone else would have led you to a bib fat nothing. But, because I'm a genius, I was able to reconstruct the image it captured on the night of Ed's murder."

"Did you see anything?" Abbie asked on the edge of her seat.

"The angle isn't great, but I can tell you one thing with certainty: Ed's killer got blonde hair," he said.

"I hear you finally got enough to make an arrest, officer?" King came into the room grinning.

"I guess we do," Jones sounded downcast as he crossed out which suspects didn't match their profile, "but something tells me I wont like where this is going . . ."

"Well, remember, no matter what, you have to fallow the evidence," he told them, "I'm trusting on you to make the right decision."

"We know Chief," Abbie said standing.

King smiled, "you've done a fine job, detective. I'll let you handle the arrest."

He reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a pair of hand cuffs and matching key. He held them out to the Canadian who excepted them in surprise. She looked at them as if she had just been given a new born baby.

"I figured you could use your own pair of cuffs," King said, "can't let Jones have all the fun now, can we?"

Abbie shook her head, "t-thank you Chief."

He nodded and turned on his heels and left the room. Jones and Alex stared at the cuffs in her hands like they might explode.

"The Chief gave you his lucky cuffs . . ." Jones said breathily, "he's never made an arrest without them."

"I heard he got them for his Chief," Alex muttered, "and they still look brand new . . ."

"Well," Abbie unlocked them, "let's go arrest a killer."

They walked down the stairwell to the third floor, they entered the large office space and found Harry standing at Ed's desk. He looked up and sighed in defeat when he saw the looks on their faces,

"I knew you'd figure it out. I should have turned myself in that night . . ." he said meekly studying the carpet, "I guess I'm weaker than I thought."

"But why Harry?" Abbie asked, "you said it your self, Ed was your best friend."

"Look, I didn't mean for any of this to happen! But I couldn't just watch Ed ruin his career! He was such and inspiration!" Harry cried the words spilling out, "when I first confronted him, he acted sorry, said he would stop . . . but those were all lies, of course. So, I decided to up the ante. I told him to meet me in Queen Street Station. I said I had a USB Key filled with proof of his scams, that I was going to report him. And he just laughed in my face! Said he had connections, that nobody would listen to me! He punched me, we started fighting. And then . . . I'm not sure how it happened. One second, he was pointing his gun at me, and the next . . . I was the one holding it . . ."

"And Ed was lying dead on the ground," she finished for him softly. Harry nodded numbly still not meeting their eyes.

"Abbs," Jones chocked on the words, "can you handle the arrest? I don't have the heart to read him his rights."

Abbie nodded and cuffed Harry's wrists behind his back while reciting the rights. They led him out and all the other cops stared in silence as their brother in blue was lead out to the Court House in hand cuffs.

_In the Court House . . ._

"Every time an officer of the Force stands in front of my desk, I am reminded that nobody is immune from falling on the wrong side of the Law," Judge Hall said, her voice heavy with disappointment, "Harry Landry, you have entered a guilty plea, for the murder of Ed Dunkin. You do understand what this entails?"

"I do," Harry said firmly, "I killed my partner! How it happened is irrelevant. I'm ready to face the full consequences."

"Given the circumstances surrounding the crime," she read off the sentence, "the Court thereby sentences you to 4 years for manslaughter, with a chance for parole in 2 years."

"2 years," he looked disappointed at his sentence, "that's all I get for killing the man who taught me everything. This is the Justice I was fighting to preserve?"

"Court is adjourned," Hall declared rapping her gavel to dismiss the crowed.

Jones and Abbie walked down the steps to their car. The rest of the crowed was silent as they left the Court House, not stopping to even say hello to each other.

"One bad cop dead, one good cop behind bars," Jones sighed gazing at the Scales of Justice on the roof of the Court House, "and two families deprived of their husbands and fathers . . . a sad they for the Grimsborough police."

"But one murder case solved," Abbie said.

He nodded, "I would never have suspected Ed of making pacts with felons. I guess you never really know a person, eh? By the way, partner, if you ever see me turning to the dark side . . . I trust you to slap some sense back into me!"

"I will you if you will," she said getting in the car.

"Deal," they shook on it.

"Do you want to go back to work?"

Jones started the car, "yeah, get my mind off of this case. Maybe they'll be some errands for us."

"Well, let's go see."

When they got back the station, Abbie checked in with Chief King to see what he had for them.

"Abbie, you handled this case with a cool head, despite the fact that one of your colleagues had been murdered," King congratulated, "I'm very impressed."

"Thank you Chief," she couldn't keep the smiled off her face, "would you like your cuffs back?"

"There yours now," he said, "but your job, however, isn't done. A few of your suspects are still giving us trouble. The pimp, Zeus, is causing a racket downstairs, I have no idea why! And Ramirez has caught Angelo Martinez walking on the subway tracks. Martinez claims it was an emergency. I would appreciate if you could sort this mess out."

"Is that all?" Abbie joked.

He chuckled, "no, but on a light note, the delightful Ginger, is also looking for you."

"At least you didn't give us much to do," she said as she left the office.

She brought Jones up to speed on their tasks and left to find out what Angelo was doing on the subway tracks.

"I lost one of my puppies on the subway tracks," Angelo explained irritated, "and I'd have gotten it back if that dumb cop hadn't arrested me!"

"That dumb cop is Ramirez - and he isn't dumb!" Jones defended, "and if you think we'll swallow your puppy story, you've got another one coming!"

"For fuck's sake! I'm serious! Go check it out if you don't believe me!" he suggested angrily

"You know what? We are going to look for you puppy! But its not to help you!" Abbie growled, "its because puppies are adorable."

They left him in the room to cool down before he could be realised. As they made their way down they ran into Zeus just outside their office.

"There you are!" Zeus exclaimed throwing his hands up, "listen man, last time I was put in custody, you guys never gave me back my tie!"

"Your making all this fuss . . . because of a tie?!" Jones bellowed, "you can't be serious."

"Look at me," he waved his hands up and down his body, "I'm always serious about fashion!"

"Fine Zeus, just keep the noise down," Jones pleaded, "Abbie and I will have a look through Ramirez's lost and found desk when we get back."

"I'll be waiting," Zeus said plopping down into a chair.

They left the rest of the police force to deal with the fashion crazed pimp to go find their lost puppy. The tracks would be opened back up to the public that night so they only had hours left to look before the trains started to ride he tracks.

Jones took one set of tracks and Abbie took the other with Hunter. She lit her flashlight and shined it just above the ground to look for the dog. There was a small whimpering sound coming from inside the tunnel and she traveled down it until she found a small dog huddled against the wall.

"Hey there," Abbie crouched down and held out her hand, "I'm not going to hurt you buddy, I'm here to help you."

Hunter barked and wagged her tail in greeting. The dog seemed to take this as a good sign and hobbled away from the wall. It sniffed the detective's hands and nudged it. Abbie smiled and fished out two of the dog biscuits she kept in her bag, one for the dog and the other for Hunter. When the dog had devoured the biscuit Abbie picked it up and carried it out of the tunnel.

"Jones!" she called out, he materialized from his tunnel clicking his flashlight off.

"Well I'll be," he said surprisingly, "there really was a puppy in the station."

Abbie scratched the dogs ear, "he has a registration tattoo on his ear, we should check to see if he really does belong to Martinez."

The dog squirmed around in her arms as she tried to make out what was tattooed on the inside of his ear. She called out the number to Jones as she made them out and he wrote them down.

"I don't know how you managed to decipher that tattoo," Jones laughed, "not with the way Mr. puppy was moving around!"

Abbie laughed along with him, "he's a slippery one, let's get that number to Alex to track the owner."

"And the puppy to Avi to keep and eye on," he said leading the way upstairs.

They drove back with Abbie and Hunter in the back seat. Mr. puppy sat on her lap and the German Sheppard helped to keep him calm during the ride. When they got back to the station the took the back stairs to the tech lab to drop the number and puppy off. Then they went to their office to search Ramirez's desk for Zeus's tie.

"His desk is a mess!" Abbie complained seeing the pilled of papers, reports and other supplies littering the desk top and spilling out of the drawers.

"That's Ramirez for you," Jones said cautiously poking a stack of paper, "I think he keeps most of the confiscated goods in the top, left hand drawer."

She tugged on it and winced hearing a crack, "I hope he doesn't like this desk."

"I'll mention it to King about getting him another one," he said.

She pulled out paper after paper and handed them to Jones to sort trough. When all of the papers were out she looked into the drawer and at the very back saw some scraps of fabric.

"Oh no," Abbie groaned pulling them out.

"What the - what the hell is this?! RA-MI-REZ!!" Jones yelled for the officer.

Ramirez rushed into the room, "yes? Did I do something wrong?"

"You tell me!" he demanded, "why the hell is this tie cut into little pieces?!"

"Oh . . ." he gulped nervously tugging his shirt collar, "oh! Uh, I had to look after my little nephew for an hour and, well, I guess he must have . . ."

"Great! Either we give Zeus the pieces and tell him it's the latest fashion statement," Jones rolled his eyes, "otherwise we need to sew this tie back together."

"I'll get the thread ready," Abbie said sitting down at her desk.

"Oh, and Ginger is still waiting to talk to you," Ramirez said.

"Send her up please," she asked. He nodded and hurried out before Jones could find something else to yell about. A few seconds later the blonde came in and Jones face lit up like a Christmas tree.

"David, Abbie, I'm so glad to see you!" Ginger smiled, "I hate to be a nuisance-"

"You're never a nuisance Ginger!" Jones insisted.

She giggled, "why thank you gorgeous, now. As I was saying, I was wondering whether you could help me . . ."

"Anything to get me out of this," Abbie growled missing the hole in the needle for the tenth time, "I hate sewing."

Ginger took a seat next to her, "may I?"

"Knock your self out," she passed her the supplies and tie pieces. "So, what do you need Ginger?"

"I got mugged while I was on the docks," she frowned tying the thread to the needle, "thief took my bag, and then just threw it in the river!"

"Oh, that's terrible Ginger!" Jones fumed, "we'll get whoever did this . . . do you think you can identify your attacker?"

"No. It all happened so fast . . . but I did see his tattoo, it was that of a viper. But I wouldn't want to send the man to prison, not for this anyway," she had gotten the tie sewn back together and held it up, "there, good as new."

"Thanks Ginger!" Jones grinned, "and don't worry. Abbie and I are the best underwater searchers! We'll have your bag fished out in no time!"

"I very much appreciate it," Ginger smiled flirtingly, "it's a fake black crocodile leather handbag."

"Were on it!" Abbie said taking the tie, "and thanks again for fixing this tie."

They found Zeus still lounging on his chair waiting for them.

"Good news Zeus," Abbie held out the silk tie, "we found your tie."

"Finally!" he cried in relief, "I was about to lose my cool!"

"And I'm about to lose mine!" Jones glared, "so take your freaking tie and get the hell away from here!"

"Chill out, little man," Zeus chuckled, "nothing to get upset about."

"Well we have to get going," Abbie said hurriedly pushing her partner away, "don't lose any more ties Zeus!"

She didn't stop pushing Jones until he was in the car. She drove straight to the docks and contemplating whether or not pushing him into the water would cool him off quicker. She stopped the car and got their gear from the trunk and chucked Jones his suit and breathing tank.

They changed quickly and jumped into the water. They canvased the river bed for anything resembling a handbag. There was a black mound hidden behind a rock, Abbie grabbed it and motioned to Jones to head to the surface.

"Ginger said her bag was made of fake crocodile skin," Jones recalled once they had gotten onto the docks, "but this looks like real crocodile skin . . ."

Abbie shrugged, "manufactures are good at making fake products."

"We most probably shouldn't search through her bag . . ." his cheeks turned a reddish shade, "but then again we DO need to make sure it belongs to Ginger . . ."

"She'll know . . ." Abbie said in a singsong voice stripping off her suit.

"No, she won't," he said confidently. He dug through the contents of the purse while his partner put away her gear. She came back and saw him holding a card in his hand.

"So, anything suspicious in Ginger's bag?" she asked placing her hands on her hips.

"Since when does Ginger hang out at the Blue Flamingo?!" he wondered out loud, "do you think Marconi's one of her clients?"

"I doubt it. Why, are you jealous?"

He looked away flushed, "let's go give Ginger her bag back. I just hope she isn't involved with Marconi."

He removed his suit and stuck it in the trunk with Abbie's. they headed back to the station and found Ginger sitting at Jones's desk playing on his computer.

"Make yourself right at home," Jones said in mock innocence.

Ginger grinned, "don't have to tell me twice."

He smiled back, "we found your purse, sorry if its still wet. I tried to dry it with a towel on the way back.

"You found my bag! I don't know how to thank you enough for this!" she took it from his hands and opened it, "on the other hand, you didn't have to search through it."

"That's ludicrous!" he gulped, "how are you even able to tell, anyway?"

"A woman can always tell when her bag's been searched," Ginger rolled her eyes, "you should be more careful gorgeous."

Abbie slapped him upside the head, "told you she would know."

"Er, thanks . . . I will," Jones adverted his eyes, rubbing his head, "you should be more careful too and stay as far away from Marconi as possible."

"Don't worry about me, I can take care of myself," she stood up and dusted off her skirt, "thank ya'll again for the help."

"Anytime Ginger," Abbie smiled, "come Jones, lets go see what Alex found."

They said their goodbyes before walking down the hall to the tech lab. The sight that greeted them was too cute. Avi and Mr. puppy had fallen asleep in one of Alex's beanbag chairs and the kid had the dog cuddled to his chest. Hunter decided to get in on the action and hopped up into the chair and snuggled into Avi's back. Alex and Grace were muffling their laughter as they took a picture of the three.

"Well isn't this just the cutest thing," Abbie chuckled softly.

"Its so cute it should be illegal," Jones agreed, "so Alex, did you find Mr. puppy's owner?"

"I checked your tattoo," Alex confirmed, "and the puppy does belong to Angelo Martinez."

"I can't believe dogfight organizers use such sweet puppies for their gruesome games!" he said disgusted.

"No wonder he ran away," Abbie huffed.

"They're monsters! Look at how this puppy has already been abused already!" Grace cried angrily. She then gained a look of affection, "and that's why, if it's the same with you, I'm keeping Newton for myself!"

"Aww! You've already given him a name!" Jones cooed, "you and Newton diffidently deserve each other."

"Well, Angelo sure doesn't," Abbie nodded, "let's go tell him his dog has a better, safer home."

Angelo was still in their interrogation room but luckily for them he had cooled down after a few hours.

"Good news is we found the puppy," Jones said leading him on.

"Good!" he growled, "I paid a fortune for that mutt!"

"And the bad news is your going to have to pay a find for animal mistreatment," he laughed, "oh, and we're keeping him!"

"You've got to be crazy if you think I'm gonna leave without that stupid dog!" Angelo fumed.

"Yeah, yeah," Abbie said mockingly, "just pay your fine and leave, unless you like spending time locked up in a cage?"

Angelo grumbled but ripped the ticket out of her hand and marched out to go pay it. Or to tear it up, who knows? Jones and Abbie high-fived each other for a job well done and left to go file their reports.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say that in this story, Nathan is transgender (female-male) it just won't be reviled in the story for a while, but I don't want you guys to be confused. Sorry for anyone who I did confuse by changing this fact about him.


	9. An Explanation (or Part of)

Abbie threw the tennis ball across the field and watched Hunter chase after it. The dog tackled the ball in a roll and ran back for another round.

"Another one?" Abbie laughed, "we've been playing fetch for hours!"

Hunter bark as if to saw,  _"And?"_

She chuckled, "alright,  _one_  more, but then we leave. Got it?"

Hunter barked,  _"Yup!"_

Abbie pulled her hand back and threw the ball at full force. It sailed through the air and Hunter bounded after it. The dog disappeared into the bushes and the woman waited for her to return. She waited, and waited and waited some more, but the German Sheppard didn't come back. Abbie frowned and headed over to investigate what was taking her so long.

"Hunter?" she called walking around the bushes, "where are you girl?"

"Arf!" she heard a bark.

Abbie looked that way and saw Hunter and Avi standing next to each other. The boy held the ball in his hand and the puppy had the kid's ball cap in her mouth. The playground was in the distance and Nathan was walking over from it.

"Namastē Abbie," he smiled seeing his co-worker, "Avi, what have I said about running off?"

The kid's smile fell, "not to run where I can't be seen . . ."

"That's right, but since you ran into Abbie and Hunter, its alright," Nathan smiled, "THIS time."

"Sorry mommy," he mumbled, "here's you ball auntie Abbie."

"Thank you Avi," the detective took the hat from Hunter's mouth and set it on its owner's head, "do you want to play fetch with her for a bit? I know she'd like that."

Avi's face lit up, "can I?!"

"Sure," Abbie laughed, "as long as its okay with your mom."

He looked at Nathan, "can I? Please?"

"Go ahead," he chuckled, "but don't play too long, we have to go home soon."

"Yeah! Come on Hunter!" he squealed leading the puppy away from them. When he was out of ear shot, Abbie turned to Nathan.

"Your kid is cute," she commented, "and very well behaved,"

He smiled shyly, "dhanyavaad, I try. He's a good kid and I'm lucky to have him."

"He has a lot of . . . energy."

Nathan tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, "he has sever ADHD, but I wouldn't change him for the world."

"That explains why he never seem to stop moving," Abbie said watching the two play.

He hummed, "he can go for hours none stop, the only thing that calms him down is video games. That's why him and Alex get along so well, the games calm him down to."

"Alex has ADHD?" she asked.

"Hāṁ,"' he nodded, "not as sever as Avi's, but both of them can't sit in one place for long unless their keeping their hands occupied."

"I see," she said, "is he in school?"

"He starts in September," Nathan looked her in the eye, "but I know that's not wat you want to ask me."

She flushed, "am I that obvious?"

He nodded.

"Good to know," she rolled her eyes, "can I ask you my questions then?"

"You can," he said motioning her to sit with him on one of the park benches, "but I won't promise that I'll answer them."

"Fair enough," she sat with him, "how about this, I ask you a question and you can ask me one?"

He thought it over, "alright. You first."

"Okay, how old are you?"

"31, you?"

"28," she did the math, "you had Avi at 26?"

He sighed, "hāṁ, and before you ask, I won't tell you anything involving is father."

She raised her hands, "no arguments here. When did you move here?"

"Shortly before Avi was born, Chief King was the only man who was willing to give me a job with an infant at home and no partner," Nathan fidgeted with the dog-tags he wore. The sliver tags had strange symbols etched on them they she couldn't under stand. On the end of the tags, the Indian flag was engraved along it.

"Where did you get those dog-tags?" she asked, "I never noticed them before."

He looked at it, "there from my foster father, he gave them to me when I was a kid. Do you have any family?"

"My father and mother are still alive, but we had a bit of a . . . fall out a few years ago."

"I'm sorry."

She snorted, "don't be, it was for the best."

"Mommy," Avi wined dragging his feet to them, "I'm tired!"

Nathan chuckled and picked him up, "did Hunter tire you out?"

"Ah-uh," he nodded yawning, "can we go home?"

"Hāṁ, kaddoo, you can have a nap while I make dinner," he stood up cradling the kid in his arms, "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Oui," Abbie stood up and gathered the sleeping puppy in her arms, "I think Avi's not the only one tired out, let's head home girl, bye Nathan, bye Avi."

Avi mumbled something a waved weakly, Nathan said goodbye for him and they went their separate ways.


	10. Death By Crucifixion

"Good day," Chief King smiled as Jones and Abbie filed into his office, "I'll get straight to business: does the name Gordon Michelli ring a bell?"

"Isn't he the director of the Red Company construction corporation?" Jones asked, "I hate those guys, they're only interested in profit!"

"Spare me your personal considerations Jones," he pleaded, "Michelli was found dead on the Gooseberry Lane construction site! Go there, and figure this out!"

"Yes Chief!"

They drove to the construction sight and were startled by the sight they welcomed them. Michelli had been nailed to a wooden cross, stripped of his clothes with only a white cloth to cover his lower half. Blood dripped to the ground from his back. Nathan was scratching his head, trying to figure out how to get the body off the cross.

"Well that's something you don't see everyday!" Jones said surprised, "I hope this doesn't mean crucifixion is coming back in style!"

"Hopefully not," Abbie agreed looking for clues.

"All jokes aside, I've never had to look for a religious killer before," he cupped his chin, "it sounds like a contradiction to me."

"Maybe this torn card could shed some light on this crime," she picked up the pieces hidden under the workbench.

"Anybody got a hammer?" Nathan asked.

Jones looked around and found one on the table, "here."

"Dhan'yavāda," he said accepting it. He used the clawed end to remove the nails from Michelli's hands and feet.

"The card belongs to a psychologist," Abbie says reading it, "Dr. Lawrence Bishop."

"Let's go see what he has to say about all this," Jones said.

They drove to the psychologist's office and the receptionist directed them down a hall to him room. A gray-haired man in a tweed jacket answered the door and welcomed them in to take a seat at his desk.

"What can I do for you two? Ae you here for marriage counselling?" he asked looking at their fingers.

"No," Jones said bluntly, "we're are here to ask you about Gordon Michelli, he was found dead this morning."

"Michelli is dead?" Bishop's eyes widened, "how unfortunate! I met him when I was recruited as a psychologist in his company."

"Do you know if he had any trouble with his workers?" Abbie asked, "anyone who might have wished him dead?"

"Hm, two names come to mind, yes," he recalled, "Ed Miller; the union representative, has developed some kind of persecution complex towards his employer. And Frank Janovski, the project manager, drinks whiskey all day long, alcohol makes him remarkably violent. Michelli was about to fire him."

"Thank you, Dr. Bishop," she said standing, "we will look into them."

They left his office and after looking up the works information in their database, they drove back to the connection site office to find the men.

"If that Frank drinks whisky on the job," Jones commented parking, "I don't want to live in the houses he builds!"

"Me to, anyway. Let's go see what he and Ed have to saw about their boss's death," Abbie said getting out.

They found Frank Janovski first, he was out side the trailer they were using for an office drink, you guessed it, whiskey. He hid the flask when he saw the cops and they pretended not to see it.

"Mr. Janvoski, I heard Mr. Micheeli was about o fire you," Jones said, "you must be pretty relived hr's dead now, aren't you?"

"Me?  _Fired?!_  You must be joking!" he scoffed, "I'm the only person keeping this goddamn project from crumbling to dust!"

"And how are you doing that?" Abbie asked.

"This site is vandalized almost every night!" he fumed, "and Michelli's formal complaint to your Police hasn't change a fucking thing!"

"A complaint you say?" Jones repeated, "Abbs, I think we should head back to the station and have a look into this."

"First," she said, "can you tell us where to find Ed Miller?"

"Sure," Frank grunted jerking a thumb over his shoulder, "he's right over there, by the lumber truck."

"Thank you."

They found the lumber truck easily and introduced themselves to the man who was unloading some more lumber.

"I know its not very Christian-like," Ed sighed, "but I cannot mourn the death of such a corrupt man."

"Could you elaborate please?" Jones asked.

"Michelli had absolutely no respect for sacred spaces! There used to be a church here! But Michelli's greed was so strong, he made us tear it down to the ground!" he cried furiously clenching his fists, "do you know what its like? Working for such a man?! I hope God forgave him for his sins, but as I said, will not mourn his death."

"Thank you for your time Ed," Abbie said ending the interview.

They headed back to the station and road the elevator up to their office floor. They got out and found the room dark and the blinds drawn.

"Great, the lightbulbs burst," Abbie sighed pulling open the blinds.

"Even greater," Jones said standing in front of a messy desk, "Ramirez is the one in charge of complaints, an of course he isn't here. Well, we can just wait for him."

Abbie came over, "time to exercise some detective skills."

She pushed around the papers on the desk and found a sketch of the desk with the drawers labelled. She found the one marked "Complaints" and looked for the corresponding drawer. She dropped her arms to her side when she saw the explosion of papers spilling out from it.

"Its in there," she said showing him the desk key.

"What the . . . it looks like a bomb exploded in this drawer!" he knitted his brows, "it'll take us forever to find Michelli's complaint!"

"Well, let's get started," she said pretending to roll up her invisible sleeves.

They pulled out paper after per finding reposts from five years ago to five days ago. Ramirez really needed to organize his stuff. They kept taking papers out until they found a newer complaint form with the Red Company's logo on the top left-hand corner.

"Here it is!" Abbie cried, "Michellis's complaint form!"

"And look who' s finally arrived!" Jones snapped, "RAMIREZ! Get your ass over here!"

The field officer scrambled over in fear, "yes sir?"

"Do you have any leads on the vandalism of Gooseberry Lane?" he asked steading his breathing.

"You don't know?" he asked looking proud of himself, "I caught the gipsies getting drunk and vandalizing the construction site! Their leader's Nikolay Woloch, I locked him up!"

"Talk about serendipity!" he smiled, "let's go interrogate this Woloch guy."

"Good jo Ramirez," Abbie congratulated on her way by.

They got Nikolay out of his holding cell and brought him into their interrogation room.

"Mr. Woloch you're in big trouble," Jones informed him, "Mr. Micheelli was found dead on the construction site you and your buddies vandalized yesterday."

"I've never heard of that guy!" he insisted, "and I bet you have nothing on us about that stupid construction site. You never have anything, you scum!"

"I'd cooperate I were you!" he barked, "with your criminal record, we can keep you behind bars for a long time!"

"Ha, be my guest!" Nikolay laughed, "this is high livin': a roof over my head, food on my plate and all that free of charge! What else could I ask for?!"

"And now you get to go back to your full furnished room," Jones glared leading the man away.

Abbie waited for him back at her desk and Ramirez came up to her.

"Detective Abbie," he said, "have you noticed that huge cross Nikolay's wearing? That's relevant to your case, right?"

"Actually, it is!" she told him.

"It is?" he looked surprised, "I mean, of course it is! . . . how is it relevant?"

"It proves that Nikolay is Christian," she said adding it to his profile. Ramirez left the office with a smile plastered on his face.

As he left, Nathan came in, "I fished my autopsy."

"Great timing," Jones said coming back, "what did you find?"

"Gordon Michelli must have suffered a great deal; e was flogged and slowly bled to death" Nathan said downcast, "I also found traces of whiskey on is body, although the blood test shows Michelli didn't drink. Guys, you know wat tis means . . . your killer drinks whiskey."

"Haha! I knew it!" Jones yelled triumphed, "didn't I say I knew it Abbie?"

"Actually," she said, "you didn't."

He flushed, "well . . . never mind! Let's regroup. We've got a crucified man, two disgruntled employees and some kind of psychologist. Not much to go on . . ."

"Guys, Nikolay is insisting on speaking with you," Ramirez poked his head into the room.

"Great!" he grinned, "business has picked up again!"

They brought Nikolay back into interrogations to talk.

"So, Nikolay!" Jones smirked, "are you still enjoying your five-star accommodation?"

"For God's sake, let me out!" he pleaded, "they told me my wife's about to give birth! Its bad luck to miss your son's birth!"

"Well, you know what you have to do . . ."

"Fuck! I'm not a snitch!" he crossed his arms, "look, we just got to the construction site to goof around, drink some whiskey . . . it's the old loonie who keeps breaking stuff!"

"An old loonie?" Abbie repeated, "I don't think you mean the currency."

"People say she's cursed," Nikolay looked like he believed the roomers, "she lives in that old parking lot, the one on Calgary Avenue."

"We'll go pay her a visit," Abbie said escorting Nikolay back to his cell.

When she got back Jones walked with her to the car, "so Nikolay and his buddies drink whiskey, eh? Those are some fancy gypsies we've got here!"

"And a new suspect," she added getting in the driver's seat.

They drove over to the Calgary Avenue parking lot to find the place void of life. There was an abandoned security post and Jones looked inside and found that someone had decorated it with gems, charms and other magical items. There was a coat in the corner that looked to have been recently slept in.

"Check this out!" Abbie yelled beckoning him over to the run-down car, "what are overalls with the Red Company logo doing here? Its not exactly the best place to change clothes!"

"There's blood on the!" he pointed to the red stain on the front of the overalls, "they might have been worn by our killer."

"We better send them to Grace for a full check up!" she agreed stuffing them in a large bag.

"Damn, I almost forgot! We must also find that old loonie! Without a discerption, it won't be easy-"

"What about that woman over there?" Abbie pointed to the woman emerging from the shadows coming towards them, "it must be her."

"Who are you?!" Linda demanded bearing her jagged teeth at them, "go away demons! AWAY! . . . In Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti . . ."

"Please, calm down," Jones asked confused by the chanting, "we're police officers. Last night, you were seen vandalizing the construction site on Gooseberry Lane. We have some questions for you."

"I knew it! The Devil sent you!" she cried, "you are in cohort with the demons, but God will punish you! He will punish the heathens for tearing down his sacred home!!"

She started throwing ashes and salt at them but Jones grabbed her wrists and cuffed them behind her back. He put her in the back of their squad car while she tried to bite him.

"Oooookay, Nikolay didn't exaggerate, she's crazy alright!" Jones breathed out closing the door, "and I'm picking up slight religious vibe, aren't you Abbs?"

"Just a little," she said eyeing the woman pounding on the windows.

"Let's bring her back to the station," he said getting in the car, "it'll give us a chance to see if we have anything on her."

Abbie just shrugged and started the car. When they got back to the station, she took Linda to a holding cell while Jones booked her in. they got to their office and saw Ramirez at his desk.

"Hey, Ramirez!" Jones called, "do you have anything on a certain Linda Lovara?"

"The name sounds familiar . . .but, hu," Ramirez gulped nervously, "if truth be told, I've no idea where the info is . . . sorry."

"Aren't you suppose to make us save time?" he asked, "c'mon, Abbie. Let's have another look at scatterbrain's desk."

Jones tackled the desk while Abbie looked around the other filing cabinets for the files. She couldn't find anything in the filing cabinets or the closet, so she resorted to looking in other places. She found a magazine rack on a small table and riffled through the papers and found Linda Lovara's police records among them.

"Found it!" she announced waving the paper.

"Oh ya!" Ramirez said, "now I remember, I was going to file that report but I got distracted by the magazine I was reading!"

Jones rolled his eyes, "why am I not surprised? Here, can I see her record?"

"Sure," Abbie passed it to him.

"So, Linda Lovara does have a criminal record, and boy! Its one of a kind!" he said scanning the contents, "an officer found her stone drunk, lashing herself in the middle of the street! And she . . . smashed her bottle of whisky on the head of the poor bastard!"

She winced, "that hurts."

"Unsurprisingly, she was tried and put in an institution," he raised an eyebrow, "she ran away after her psychiatrist was band on grounds of malpractice. And to top it all off, she's addicted to Nevrax. Y'know, I think we should write this down, as well as the fact she drinks whiskey. It might come in handy."

Abbie typed it in, "got it."

"As for her doctor's name . . ."" he squinted, "damn, its smudged. Abbie, d'you think you can decode his ID?"

"Let me see," she held out her hand. He gave it to her and she reconstructed the letters ASB-TDX-ONG.

"Let's send this to Alex, see what he comes up with," she suggested sticking the yellow note to the record.

They dropped the paper off with Alex and the way to see what Grace had found out about the overalls they sent her.

"The overalls you found on the parking lot turned out to be a gold mine!" Grace smiled, "thank God you've got Abbie to help you out, right Jones? The blood came back positive for Michelli: those overalls were worn by your killer."

"You seem very happy for finding out the killer's sense in fashion," Abbie smirked.

"That's because I also found a little surprise in the pockets," her smile turned into a grin, "Nevrax pills! It's a powerful antidepressant with equally powerful side-effects. I hope your killer doesn't drink alcohol, guys! Mixed with Nevrax, it tends to make people completely lose touch with reality."

". . ." Jones looked shell-shocked, "your joking, right? Abbie, tell me she's joking!"

"I don't think Grace jokes, Jones," Abbie replied.

"So, our killer likes washing their Nevrax down with whiskey . . ." he gulped, "and is probably batshit insane! That's  _really_  comforting!"

"Aw! Does Jonesy need his blankie?" Alex teased entering the lab.

"Shut up," he flushed, "I know you still sleep with a stuffy."

"Touché," he nodded, "your Doctor's ID belongs to a certain Bishop. Does it ring any bell?"

"You bet it does!" Abbie exclaimed, "did you find anything about him?"

"Oh yeah," he nodded, "pretty suspicious fellow: he was banned from practice a few years ago and kicked out of Grimsborough's psychiatric hospital."

"Which means Bishop and Linda must have met there . . . this is getting confusing," Jones massaged his temples, "we need to talk to these two again!"

"Well, let's go see Linda, I put her in the seclusion cell."

They found Linda sitting crossed legged on the floor of her cell, chanting under her breath in another language.

"Linda?" Abbie asked cautiously, "we wanted to ask if you knew our friend, Dr. Lawrence Bishop."

"You . . . you know Dr. Bishop?" she halted her chanting, "oh, but that's wonderful! Isn't he a great man? He is my guardian angel . . ."

"If you say so . . ." Jones mutter under his breath, "do you know why Dr. Bishop was banned form practice?"

"They understand nothing, nothing!" she sighed, "heathens; all of them! Dr. Bishop was a saint! He knew that the bible is the answer to all sorrow! His faith saved me! But those Demons, the ones who kept me captive . . . they couldn't stand it! They we're afraid of him! They cast him away!!!"

"And know, its our time to visit him!" Abbie gulped backing away. She and Jones rushed from the cell before Linda took her anger out on them.

"Linda clearly has issues, but at least we know that Bishop is a bit of a religious nut!" Jones panted as they reached the car.

"You think?!" Abbie asked hopping in.

They got to his office building and had to wait a bit for him to finished an appointment before seeing him. When he saw them in the waiting area, he welcomed them in and seated them at his desk. They asked him about Linda Lovara and how he knew her.

"Yes, I treated Mrs. Lovara a few years ago," he told them leaning back in his chair, "unfortunately, I wasn't able to cure her schizophrenia."

" _Or_ , they didn't let you finish your dirty work!" Jones suggested, "we know you've been banned from practice!"

"Think what you will," Bishop grinded his teeth, "my . . . colleagues, did not share my views on the relaxing qualities of carefully dosed whiskey. It helped me bond with the patients!"

"I won't disagree with you for liking whiskey," Abbie said, "but on the job? Really?"

Bishop glared, "if you are just going to criticize my methods, I suggest that you leave."

She pushed herself out of the chair, "alright, have a nice day, Doc."

They drove back to their office to go over what they had learned so far. They were still missing three of the killer's profile pieces and had no leads to fallow.

"We still haven't found our killer," Jones paced the floor, "if King hears about this, they'll be hell to pay."

"Jones, Abbie!" Chief Kings bellowed entering, "how are things going with the murder of Michelli? Have you found his killer yet?"

'This is what happens when you talk about him . . .' Abbie thought shooting Jones a look.

Jones seemed to know what she was thinking and smiled nervously, "Chief! Oh, things are going splendidly, aren't they Abbie? Splendidly! We're this close to getting the killer behind bars!"

He didn't look convinced, "then get moving and close the gap!"

"Yes Chief!" Abbie said. king left the room and they both realised the breathes they had been holding.

"Shit!" Jones cursed, "desperate time call for desperate measures. We should go have another chat with Frank and Ed."

"And it would be a good idea to have a closer look at the car we found the overalls on," Abbie added grabbing the keys.

They drove over to the parking lot first and searched around the rundown car for anything else that might belong to their killer. The only thing they could find was an over turned barrel that had been used as a garbage can.

"Ugh, what is that stink?" Jones gagged pinching his nose, "Abbie, d'you think you could take a look inside this old barrel?"

"Wimp," she muttered pulling on a pair of gloves. She pulled out pieces of garbage and tin cans from the barrel, each more disgusting then the last, until she thankfully retrieved a pair of yellow safety working gloves soaked in blood.

"The smell is still grosser then these gloves," Abbie coughed getting away from the barrel.

"Good job!" Jones said holding open an evidence bag, "we finally have a new lead! We must get these gloves to Grace right away!"

"You can do that," she said taking deep breaths of the fresher air, "I going to have to stick my face in a bowl of vanilla just to get rid of this smell."

He nodded, "I'll leave the windows down."

After dropping the gloves off at the forensics lab, they drove back over to the work sit to talk to Frank and Ed. They found the project manager first, working inside the trailer on some paper work.

"Do you take any antidepressants Frank?" Abbie inquired.

"Sure, Dr. Bishop's been prescribing me Nevrax for months," he replied, "it's the only thing that keeps me going in this hellish job!"

"You too?!" Jones asked skeptical, "I wonder what's making you all so depressed. Is it building crap houses, or destroying churches?"

 _"See?!_  Its because of assholes like you that I take these meds!" Frank barked, "Now get the fuck out of my construction site, now!"

"Leaving," Abbie assured opening the door. Before they fallowed his order, they found Ed hammering away on a section of wall.

"Ed," Jones waved to get the man's attention, "we have to ask if you've been taking antidepressants."

"Am I on antidepressants?" he put his hammer down, "yeah, actually. I'm on something like Nevral- something, or maybe Nevrax . . . anyway, I couldn't have afforded the pills without Dr. Bishop's help! He said it was expensive, and gave me some from his own private stash!"

He looked startled, "wait, your telling us Bishop take Nevrax too?"

"Of course!" Ed nodded in confirmation, "y'know, being a doctor, listening to other people complain everyday . . . it must be pretty depressing!"

"Thanks Ed," Abbie said. the man smiled and left to give instructions to the other workers, "while we're still here, we might want to take a look at the workbench near where the body was."

"Let's go," Jones said leading the way to the area still roped off by police tape.

They ducked under the tape and looked around the workbench and boards leaning against the wall. Abbie flipped through the boards and found a 2x4 that had its end dipped in blood. Jones hefted a Screw Gun up off the floor and looked over the bloody tool.

"I could _swear_  this wasn't here the last time we came!" he grunted shifting its weight, "or was it, Abbie?"

She shrugged tugging out the plank, "it was probably hidden under a tarp or something."

"Maybe. Anyway, for it to be covered in blood like that, it's clear it had to be used to crucify Michelli!" he dropped it on the table, "we've got our murder weapon!"

"And the blood on this plank," she said pulling it free, "has to belong to our killer!"

"Better get a sample."

She nodded and got her tools out. She rehydrated the dried blood and got a got drop of it on the micro slid for Grace.

"You should conceder a career as a lab rat, Abbs!" Jones joked, "let's send the blood you collected off that plank to Grace."

_Tow forensic analyses later . . ._

"Surprise, surprise," Grace drawled, "the blood on those gloves belongs to your victim. But guess what else I found inside them? Some gray hair! Unfortunately, the roots are unusable for DNA."

"At least now we know our killer's got gray hair," Abbie pointed out, "what about the blood on the plank?"

"You were right, the blood on that plank is the killer's," she informed, "they've got a rather rare blood type: AB+. This should help with your investigation."

"I'd be the devil if it didn't help!" Jones beamed, "you really are Amazing, Grace."

The red-head blushed, "as if I hadn't heard that joke a thousand times before. But thank you, silly."

"And now, silly and I have a killer to arrest," Abbie said, "shall we?"

"We shall," Jones smiled fallowing her to the car.

They drove over to the psychiatric office. They hurried up the stairs and after telling the receptionist to leave, burst into Dr. Bishop's office with their guns drawn.

"We know you crucified Gordon Michelli on the construction site!" Jones announced aiming his gun at the doctor who sat in his deckchair innocently.

"You gave me too much power," he said whimsically, "Gordon came to me for help. He wished to atone for his sins, I only helped him do so."

"Atone for his sins?!" he echoed, "what the hell are you talking about?!"

"Michelli's greed was so strong," he growled anger radiating off him in waves, "he destroyed the city's oldest church to make more money! That is a Capital Sin!"

"Are you telling us Michelli asked you to kill him?!" Abbie demanded.

"Who said anything about murder?" Bishop faked ignorance, "Mr. Michelli lashed himself, as penance. I only helped him carry his cross."

"If Michelli agreed on that little show," Jones said, "why did we find your business card torn to shreds?"

"It was . . ." he started to get flushed, "merely a slip-up. He quickly came back to his senses."

"You really are a nutcase," he said keeping his gun trained on the doctor while Abbie cuffed him, "Dr. Bishop, you are under arrest. Anything you say can and will be held against you . . ."

_At the trial . . ._

"Silence in Court!" Judge Hall demanded, "Dr. Bishop, you stand accused of the murder of Gordon Michelli. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"It does not matter," Bishop smirked, "your "justice" has no value compared to God's!"

". . . if you think so," she muttered raising an eyebrow, "I take it these are your last words?"

He nodded.

"Dr. Bishop, the Court recognizes you as being mentally ill and sentences you to confinement in a psychiatric institution for criminals," she declared.

"Thank you, your honor, for making a martyr out of me," he said as he was lifted out of his seat, "I know God will reward my sacrifice on the real Judgment Day!"

They led him out as Judge Hall dismissed the Court. The rest filled out and Jones and Abbie headed over to their car.

"My ex-wife always wanted me to see a shrink," Jones said suddenly, "she said he'd help me "deal with the stress of my job"! . . . seeing Bishop, I'm reeeeally glad I never agreed to go! Can you imagine what he might have done to me?!"

"Oh, I don't even want to think abut what else he's capable of, Abbie agreed.

"Anyway," he got in the car, "I need a change of scenery. How about getting a coffee to celebrate a case well solved, Abbs?"

"You read my mind," she smiled starting the car.

_After a night of celebrating . . ._

"Another case closed, thanks to you both. Excellent work Abbie!" Chief King congratulated them, "but as always. I'm sure you can keep busy until your services are required on a murder scene. Ah, also, for some reason, Mr. Woloch is still gracing us with his very vocal presence. Could you two go see what he wants?"

"You can count on use, Chief!" Abbie said, "come on Jones, let's go see what Nikolay wants."

They walked down to the stations holding cells and discovered Nikolay at the bars of his cell, yelling for someone to help to him. When he saw them, he slumped on the bars in exhaustion.

"Finally! Someone competent!" he cried, "Detective Abbie, you've got to help me, please!"

"Hey, breath!" Abbie said panicky, "what's so urgent you need people on the other side of the city to hear you?"

"My wife's giving birth right now, remember?!" he banged on the bars in frustration, "I wanted o join her, but that stupid cop lost the info about the hospital she's at!"

"Be careful how you speak about Officer Ramirez, pal," Jones spat, "he's a great asset to our force! However, since he's very busy, we'll find that paper for you. Just this once!"

They left the man with a warning to be quiet or else he would be spending the night in their five-start room. When they got into their office space, Abbie took one look at her partner and burst out into a fit of giggles.

"I can't believe I just took Ramirez's defence!" he looked like he had just been gargling vomit, "oh, stop laughing Abbie!"

"Sorry! Sorry!" she took a few deep breaths to clam herself, "I'm done, I swear."

"Knowing him, that paper could be around here anywhere. Let's have a look around the room," he decided wearily eyeing the desk.

They looked in the filing cabinets and the storage closets but there was no sign of the paper. They checked the empty desk and found a document torn to shreds.

"I'd recognize that sloppy handwriting anywhere!" Jones pointed to the words, "I'm sure this torn paper's the one we're looking for! I can't believe Ramirez just tore it up!"

"That's what happens when you write stuff on the first piece of paper you find," Abbie said grabbing the tape dispenser.

"But its doesn't matter. I bet you can piece this paper back up in 10 seconds with your skill!" he said confidently.

"Start counting, Count," she teased getting to work. She had it together before her got to 5.

"Well done, Abbs! This must be the info Nikolay's looking for!" he said reading the contents, he titled his head, "I can't read a thing though. Grimsbo . . . rough . . . hosp . . . ital . . . damn it, I've never seen anyone write so badly!"

"Want me to decode it?"

"Oh, I don't care. Let's give it to Nikolay and let him try to read it!" he smirked innocently, "the sooner he leaves the station, the better I'll feel!"

"Just don't get mad at me when he tries to hit you," she said fallowing him out.

Nikolay was just as they had left him, minus the yelling.

"Here you go Nikolay! All the info you need is on this paper," Jones said handing him the slip of messy graphite.

Nikolay look at it in disbelief, ". . . are you kidding me? I can't read any of this!"

"What are you talking about?" he took the paper back, "it clearly written Grimsborough hospital, right there!"

"What about the room number?!" he thundered, "how am I supposed to find my wife, try ever room in that fucking hospital?!"

"You little . . . dammit," he growled, "Abbie I'll let you handle this. I might just lose my temper otherwise!"

"Told you," she said in a sing-song voice. She quickly decoded the words on the paper to find they spelled out BF2-106. She wrote it down next to it hospital name in clear lettering. She handed it off to Jones.

"Here 's your room number! And you can thank Abbie," Jones said passing the gipsy the paper, "if it had been up to me, you would still be waiting!"

"No kidding . . ." Nikolay rolled his eyes but sounded more amused then annoyed, "thanks, Abbie! I just hope my wife hasn't given birth without me!"

"Congratulations on the kid!" Abbie smiled.

"But please," Jones said, "don't feel the need to visit again!"

"I don't plane on it," Nikolay promised as they unlocked his cell. They escorted him out of the building and he got on the city bus.

"Want to check in on Linda?" Abbie asked.

Jones paled, "I guessing even if I say no, you'll still drag me there?"

"Yup! Let's go!"

They headed over to the old parking lot to look for Linda. They didn't have to look long, shortly after they got out of the squad car, she barrelled out of the abandoned security post.

"Oh, I knew God would answer my prayers!" she cried thankfully, "detectives, you are the ones I've been looking for!"

"She's as bonkers as ever," Jones whispered to his partner.

Abbie jabbed him with her elbow, "what's wrong Linda?"

"I want to pay a visit to poor doctor Bishop, but I cannot find my healing stone!" she whimpered, "I cannot hope to help the doctor with out my stone!"

"I'm . . . sorry about your stone," Jones said, "but we're cops, not housemaids."

"Help me find this priceless jewel or by the Saints in Haven you shall feel my wrath!!" Linda declared.

"Eek!" he squeaked, "yes ma'am! We'll help you find your healing stone!"

She nodded, "good, I have to go gather supplies from the market. Don't forget your promise!"

With those words in mind, she left them alone in the parking lot. Abbie turned to Jones and gave him a look warranting an explanation.

"Sorry, Abbie," he apologized, "I just don't want to run the risk of being cursed by that old loonie! Let's have a look around the parking lot, okay?"

"Okay," she agreed.

They canvased the area for Linda's healing stone. They found stones of all different shapes, sizes and colour, but non-were the stone they were looking for. Abbie looked around and spotted a pile of green shards on the ground, she picked them up and showed Jones.

"You really think this broken trinket could be Linda's all-powerful healing stone?" he inquired doubtfully, "I'm not even sure it can be repaired!"

"Well see about that," she said getting out her glue. She delicately moved the pieces together and glued them tightly until she had restored a green stone in the shape of a wing.

"I . . . guess is should have know you'd manage to restore that gemstone, Abbie! Great work!" Jones praised, "now what do you say we hand it over to Grace, find out whether it's got any value, spiritual or otherwise?"

"If it will make you happy," she rolled her eyes, "we can check up on Ed after."

"Alright," he shrugged.

They dropped the stone off at the forensics lab then drove over to the construction site. They found Ed in the now tape free zone looking for something. They asked him if they could be of any assistance.

"Oh great, I was just looking for help!" Ed said happily.

"What's the matter Mr. Miller?" Jones asked.

"I've been looking for a set of hex keys since this morning, but I keep turning up empty handed!" he sighed, "Frank's always looking for a reason to bend my ear. If I don't get a move on with my work, I'm gonna get it for sure!"

"Frank really seems like a handful!" he commented, "what do you say, Abbie? Shall we have a look around the site?"

"Anything to prevent the torture of a lecture," she said.

"Thank you both so much," Ed breathed, "I got to go check on the others, I won't be to long."

He left them alone and they got to work. Jones check under all the piles and pieces of lumber while Abbie check around the workbench. She crouched down and found a blue toolbox underneath. She slid it out and called to her partner.

"A toolbox?" he raised and eyebrow seeing what she had, "Abbs, don't you think Ed's looked through all those already?"

"Maybe not this one," she said jiggling the lock.

"If you insist," he said, "but first you'll have to figure out the lock's combination."

"Piece of cake," she said spinning the numbers and letters. She clicked the lock open and removed it from the toolbox.

"I can't believe how fast you managed to open the lock!" Jones gapped wide-eyed, "you know, somethings I wonder if you were a thief in a past life. That would sure explain a lot!"

She laughed, "a magician never reviles their secrets. Now, let's have a look in here."

She lifted the toolboxes shelves and pushed aside the sheets of sanding paper and smaller hand tools. She got all the way to the bottom before finding a set of hex keys.

"Well I'll be . . . a set of hex keys!" Jones exclaimed when she held them up, "I can't believe Miller didn't even search that toolbox! Let's go give him a piece of our minds!"

"Careful, you don't have many pieces left to give," she teased.

"Hey!" he yelled.

They met up with Ed on the way out of the work zone.

"Here are you hex keys Ed," Jones aid as Abbie passed them to him, "we found them, oh surprise . . . in a toolbox!"

"Ha . . .hehe I . . . could swear I looked in that one . . ." he stammered sweating.

"Sure. Thank God Detective Abbie's much better then you a finding stuff!" he scoffed.

"Thanks a lot, Detective Abbie!" Ed said relived.

"Your welcome, Ed," Abbie smiled.

The two detectives left the construction site and drove back over to the police station to see what Grace had for them. They headed up to her lab and asked here about the stone they had given her.

"I hope you weren't planning to sell this to a jeweller, guys," Grace said holding the stop up to the light, "this stone is 100% stained glass!"

"I knew it!" Jones celebrated, "Linda will be disappointed though . . . well, if she stopped shouting long enough to listen to us!"

"Let's go give it back to her," Abbie said taking it form Grace's hands.

"But let's not tell her that it's fake, alright?" he asked.

"Wasn't planning on it," she agreed.

When they got to the parking lot, Linda was just getting back from the market. She was loading her supplies into her house but dropped everything when she saw them.

"Linda, Detective Abbie found your healing stone," Jones informed her.

"My precious stone!" Linda cried as Abbie gave it to her, "oh, thank you so much! Your angels! Angels!"

"Yup, angels!" he agreed quickly, "that's us alright!"

"I can go see the doctor now!" she exclaimed, "but please, I have something to give you, as a token of gratitude."

She grabbed Abbie's wrist and led her to the abandoned security post before the detective could protest. She opened the door and hulled her inside and opened a chest she had on the desk.

"You have a gift, detective," Linda said mysteriously, "a great gift! But a dangerous one!"

"Ahh . . . I don't mean to sound rude," Abbie stuttered, "but what?"

"Your eyes!" she said it obviously looking at her, "the eyes always tell who has been gifted."

"Gifted?" she repeated.

"Yes, there are many out there who claim to be gifted, but few truly are," Linda elaborated returning back to her search, "you have been gifted with a great sight, one that allows you to see what others may not."

"Like . . . I have 20-20 vision?" she asked.

the old woman laughed, "something like that."

Linda latched the necklace around Abbie's neck and the crystal glowed in the light for a split second. The detective touched the stone and found it warm to the touch.

"Thank you, Linda," Abbie said, and she meant it, "I'll treasure this forever."

She smiled, "I know you will. And good luck, I know you will do great things in this world."

She sat down on her coat and got ready to go to sleep. Abbie quietly left, closing the door behind her. She found Jones waiting in the car and slid into the passenger seat.

"What did Linda give you?" he asked once she was seated.

"A crystal," she answered pointing to it.

He rolled his eyes, "probably another piece of stained glass, you going to keep it?"

"Of course!" she said, "I'm never getting rid of it!"

"Alright," he says holding his hands up, "its your decision."

He started the car and they drove off leaving the mysterious woman alone in her parking lot.


	11. Beautiful No More

"Hi Abbie," Jones said walking into the room, "feeling good and ready to crack a new case?"

"Always am," she replied, "what do we got?"

"Today's victim must have been pretty when she was alive . . ." he looked down casted, "but her killer clearly did not want her to stay pretty in death. You'll see what I mean when we get there . . . we should go there now."

"Where was she killed?" Abbie questioned grabbing the car keys.

"She was killed in the alley behind Joe's Diner, and its been raining all night long," he supplied, "who knows how many clues got washed away!"

"You don't want to go back in the swears, do you?" she snickered.

He shudders, "its just so . . . sewery."

Abbie laughed as she started the car. They drove down the slick roads to the diner. When they got there, squad cars had blocked off the road and the ally next to the dinner had tape going across it. They nodded to the officer on guard before ducking under the tape and walking to the dumpster area.

In the center of the ground, the body of a young woman in tight clothing was laying on her side. Her face looked like someone had tried to rearrange her features with a cinder block. If a spot wasn't bruised, then it was cut and bloody. Nathan had the gurney lowered and was getting the body bag ready.

"Namastē," he said, "they found a black hand bag next to the body, figured it belonged to her."

He pointed to the bag sitting on the foot of his gurney. Abbie unzipped it and rummaged through it for ID.

"Let's hope this will give us a name to put on what used to be a face . . ." Jones hopped, "and that the autopsy will tell us something about her killer."

"I make no promises," Nathan said loading the body into the bag.

"Well, according to her ID, her name is Patricia Mills," Abbie pronounced showing the Driver's License.

"Wait a second, I know her!" Jones shouted, "she worked at Marconi's stripclub under the name Trixie Velvet."

Both Abbie and Nathan gave him matching deadpanned expressions.

"What?" he blushed adverting his eyes, "I used to go there for the music!"

"Humh," Abbie hummed smirking at Nathan who was muffling his laughter behind his hand.

"Anyway!" Jones glared, "Marconi. Again, I'm starting to think nothing fishy can happen in the city without him somehow being involved in it. Let's wait a bit before going to talk to him, though. I'd like to first have a talk with the Blue Flamingo's bounder. His name's Biff Wellington, if I remember correctly."

"Oh joy!" Abbie said sarcastically.

"Alright you two," he grunted, "for once though, we have a witness! Mrs. Lydia Holly says she saw the whole thing; she's waiting for us over there."

He pointed down the allay way where an elderly woman warped up in a gray shawl was sanding by one of the squad cars. They left Nathan to his work and headed over to talk to Lydia.

"Lydia Holly," Jones said stopping in front of the lady, "I'm Detective Jones and this is may partner Detective Abbie, we need to take your statement."

"This is all so . . ." Lydia took a deep breath, "exciting, isn't it?! I hear screams, and when I peaked out that poor girl was on the ground, and her attacker was running away!"

"Could you ID them?" Abbie asked not fazed by the woman's enthusiasm.

"Try as I might, I couldn't see their face," she sighed thinking about it, "but they were thin, no Havier than 120Ibs. And really pale, too, as if they didn't get enough sunlight."

"Thank you, madam, for the info and, uh . . ." Jones cleared his throat, "your surprising enthusiasm."

"Oh, your most welcome honey," she smiled flirtingly.

"How about we go talk to Biff now, Abbs?" he asked pleadingly.

She smoothed her laughter, "sure."

They left the scene and headed over to The Blue Flamingo Club to find Biff. When they got there, it wasn't hard to spot the blurry man standing guard by the door.

"Biff, I'm Detective Jones and this is Detective Abbie," Jones made the introductions, "Trixie Velvet was found dead this morning and we wanted to talk to you."

"Trixie was like my sister, as innocent as anything," Biff insisted, "you'd better find the sick bastard who's responsible for her death before I do!"

"Do you have any idea who might have done it?" Abbie asked.

He shook his head, "no."

"What about your boss?" Jones inquired, "I bet he liked to check the girls' . . . "talents" . . . after hours."

"Well . . . I know he invited her to dinner a couple of times, although she wouldn't hear of it," Biff admitted, "but kill her? That doesn't sound like Mr. Marconi . . ."

"Funny, I think that sounds exactly like him," he snorted, "Abbie, what do you say we have a look around this dancefloor, and then go have a chat with Marconi?"

"Yes sir!" she saluted.

Jones took over searching the bar, which left the rest of the dancefloor for Abbie. She checked the tables and found a letter that someone had torn up in rage, Trixie's name was visible on one of the pieces.

"I got something!" she called.

Jones came over, "great job! This letter was clearly addressed to Trixie; we need to piece it back together."

"An by we, you mean me," she said getting her tape. Once it was back in one piece, she gave it to Jones to read.

"You're still the best at puzzles," he skimmed the contents, "this letter is asking Trixie to go behind Joe's Diner after her shift. Joe's Diner, that's where she got brutally murdered!"

She applauded, "yeah!"

"I don't believe in coincidences, and I can see in your eyes that you don't either," he said choosing to ignored her comment, "this can only mean one thing; this letter was sent by her killer! We need to examine this letter further . . . I'll let you work your magic, it never fails!"

'Oh, if only you knew . . .' she thought accepting the letter back. She tried to first get some prints off it but the letter was damp from something spilling on it. She smelt it and got a hint of something fragrant, so she collected a sample of that.

"So, what did you find?" Jones asked.

Abbie held up the slide, "no prints, but this substance might still give away the killer."

"Well, let's send it to the lab!" he said, "and now, to talk to Marconi."

She bit back a groan and fallowed him to the door marked, "Employees Only" in block letters. Jones didn't even bother nocking and just waltzed into the room.

"Long time no see, Tony," he said orotund, "so! What happened? Did Trixie refuse to "work" after hours? Did she turn you down? I bet you wouldn't tolerate that . . ."

"Nobody turns me down," Marconi countered mater-of-fact, "and if you think I'd kill an innocent woman, a woman who was brining in money what's more, you're wide off the mark . . . as usual."

"You'd better watch out, Marconi!" he hissed, "Detective Abbie and I are getting pretty tired of your bullshit!"

"Well, he is," Abbie cut in, "I get a nice kick out of this show,"

"Yeah," Marconi remarked, "well, I'm getting pretty tired of those stupid Vipers wreaking havoc in my district while you coppers stand around and watch. So, if you'll excuse me, I've got serious business to attend to."

"Your" district?  _Your district?!"_  Jones shouted.

Abbie slapped her hand over his mouth and shoved him out of the office.

"Car, now," she ordered, he opened his mouth to protest, " _now_  David!"

He snapped his mouth shut and left.

"Well," Marconi sounded impressed, "you got him trained like a dog."

"Better then a dog," she said petting Hunter, "odds are we'll be back Malfaiteur."

"I look forward to it, Poliziotta."

She nodded in goodbye and her and Hunter left the club. Jones was sulking in the car when they got their and Abbie got in the driver's seat.

"You gonna stop acting like a brat?" she asked.

"M'not a brat," he mumbled.

"Well you sure fooled me!"

He sighed, "I'm sorry Abbie, he just knows how to push my buttons!"

"Well, just don't try to push his," she pleaded, "now, we have a case to solve."

She started the car and headed to the station. They dropped the sample off with Grace first, then road the elevator down to the basement to see Nathan.

"Your victim's death was brutal, a crime of unforgivable passion," Nathan said in shock, "I've counted up to 10 blows, but its hard to be sure. Whoever killed that woman didn't just want her dead, they wanted her obliterated!"

"Did you find any souvenirs form our killer?" Jones asked, "hairs, maybe? Anything?"

"Human hairs, no," he held up a small plastic bag, "but I found cat hairs on the front of her shirt. Nothing on the rest of her clothes, though . . . I think her attacker gave her a parting hug before the kill, and that's how the cat hairs got on her shirt. Which means your killer is in contact with cats."

"You sound like a profiler," Abbie remarked.

Nathan smiled shyly, "that's because I am. Criminal Profiling is my second profession."

"Really?" she asked curiously.

He nodded, "I crate all the psychological profiles of our killers through the victims and evidence. I'm surprised you didn't know, all my reports are submitted to the court."

She smiled sheepishly, "I must have missed those reports."

"Its fine," he waved it off, "I'm happy in the background, you guys can have the lime light."

"Well, we need to o check in with Grace," Jones said, "it shouldn't have taken her long to analyze that sample."

"Bye Nathan," Abbie said.

"See you later," he replied.

They headed up the five floors to their level and entered the forensics lab.

"I've analyzed the substance you found on Trixie's letter, and I can tell you that her killer has got expensive taste," Grace looked over her notes, "this is one of the best perfume brands around: your killer is wearing Eau D'Homme."

Abbie giggled.

"What's so funny?" Jones asked.

"Its just," she giggled again, "Eau D'Homme translates to water of man."

"It does?"

She nodded, "its better than Eua D'Toilette, that translates to water of toilet."

He barked out a laugh, "good thing I never give perfume as a gift then."

"Smart, now, lets get back to work."

They headed to their office to upload the information they had gathered to far.

"This case is beginning to sound like a weird TV-script. We've got a dead stripper who just happened to work for mafia boss Tony Marconi . . ." Jones mused, "and a mysterious killer who like cats and wears expensive perfume!"

"Both of which I'm not a fan of," Abbie said tapping a pen against her lips.

"I keep thinking about that letter you found. How it had no sender's name, no personal info," he started to pace the floor, "and yet, Nathan says Trixie's killer hugged her before the kill."

"Well since Trixie listened to the letter and went to the diner, she obviously trusted the sender, even if she didn't know who the were."

"Your right, she must have received more then just one letter," he hit his fist on his open palm, "we should go see what Biff has to say about this. And maybe have a closer look at the crates that were near Trixie's body."

They stopped by their crime scene first and dug through the plastic creates stacked along the wall. Abbie reached into one and pulled out a heave sledge hammer, the head of it splattered in blood.

"Abbie, I'm starting to think you've got an inner GPS that tells you where things are, great job!" Jones congratulated, let's have a closer look at that hammer, it might be our murder weapon."

Abbie dusted the handled for finger prints, but like the letter, there were non-to be found. So, she settled for scrapping a sample off blood off the head.

"Not a single fingerprint on the hammer, they must have been washed sway in the rain," she sighed, "we can at least send this blood to the lab."

"And while we wait, let's go have a chat with our pal Marconi. We ought to check out his perfume," he smiled smugly, "and since were here, what do you say we go have another chat with Miss Marple . . . I mean Miss Holly?"

They dropped the stuff in their car before climbing the stairs to Miss Holly's apartment. They knocked n the door and she opened it.

"Miss Holly," Jones said, "is there anything else you can tell us about the murder you witnessed?"

"I'm sorry officers, I already told you everything I could . . . I saw the body . . . then I called the Police . . . when I came back to the window, the killer was gone. Then I went to feed Mr. Puss, he's my cat. Then you and Detective Abbie came to question me," Lydia recounted the events, "there's nothing more . . . although . . . well I do remember something odd . . . that poor girl had a kind of necklace, in her hand. She died holding it."

"What? We didn't find any necklace on our crime scene!" Jones exclaimed turning to his partner, "Abbie, we need to keep our eyes peeled! Finding that necklace might mean finding our killer."

"Right," Abbie nodded, "thank you Miss Holly."

"Oh, it was nothing," Lydia smiled.

They left the building and dropped their hammer and sample off first before going over to the Blue Flamingo to talk to Biff and Marconi. They found Biff first and showed him the letter sent to Trixie by her secret admirer.

"You say this letter was sent to Trixie? Damnit! If I'd seen it, I would have never let her go! She was always so. . . so, trusting," Biff ran a had across his head, "ho! How could I not think about this sooner? I know who could help you!"

"Who?" Abbie asked.

"Alice is our bar maid and she was friends with Trixie; you should go talk you her officer," he said direction them to the petite woman behind the bar.

"Thanks Biff," Jones said. they walked over to the bar and introduced themselves to Alice and explained the situation.

"Trixie and I weren't best friends or anything like that. I invited her over to my place once but when she learned I had a cat, she said she couldn't come. Allergic, y'see," she shrugged.

"Interesting . . ." Jones said, "and had she ever talked to you about those letters she got, miss August?"

"Just call me Alice, please!" she blushed, "she told me she had a secret admirer. I warned her to be cautious, but she was infatuated."

"And do you have any ide who her admirer might have been . . . Alice?" he asked sweetly.

"I don't like the idea, but I bet it's that creepy guy from the movie theater, Colin something! To-tal-ly obsessed with Trixie!" Alice fumed.

"Thank you, Alice," Abbie said leading Jones away.

"Well isn't she delightful?" Jones asked once out of ear shot, Abbie elbowed him, "hm. Anyway, we should go see this . . . Colin, she told us about."

"We still have to talk to Malfaiteur."

"Did you think I would forget that?"

They knock on his door this time and he answered it wearing a board expression.

"What now?" he asked.

"We needed to ask you what perfume you wear and if you have any pets," Abbie said.

He stared at her, "you . . . want to know what perfume I wear, and what pets I have? Is this, Random Question Day, officers?"

"Just answer the questions, Marconi!" Jones glared, "trust me, you don't want to see Detective Abbie angry."

Marconi rolled his eyes, "I don't think SHE'S going to get angry . . . whatever. Yes, I wear Eau D'Homme. And I do have a cat. But I also know how to use a lint roller, in case you haven't noticed."

Jones just humph noise in surrender. They left the club and drove to the movie theater a few blocks away. The sign said it was closed but when they tried the door they found it unlocked. They entered and walked around until they found a scrawny man lugging a trolley of boxes around.

"Colin?" Jones asked.

"Yes, I'm Colin Stokes," the man said, "and we're closed, come back tonight for the movies."

"We're not here to watch movies," he flashed his badge, "Grim PD, we're investigating the death of Trixie Velvet, Alice August said that you were obsessed with her."

"Alice said I was "obsessed" with Trixie, did she? She's got a nerve!" he whizzed, "I was a devoted fan. Trixie valued my presence, if you must know."

"I'm . . . sure she did, a handsome boy like you," he whispered, "all the same, Detective Abbie needs to have a look around your workplace, Colin. Step aside please."

Colin made no protests and pointed them in the direction of the projection room. They entered and looked around for something of intrust. Abbie walked up to the large projector and nearly kicked a box that was hidden under it. She picked it up and flipped open the lid and saw many pictures of woman.

"This box is filled with pictures of woman," she said showing Jones.

"How many girls does Colin stalk?" he asked, "let's have a closer look at these."

Abbie held the box while Jones riffled through the pictures. He moved them aside and found a small vile with dried up liquid inside.

"I'm tempted to keep some of these photos myself . . . Colin's got taste!" he said mischievously.

"I'd slap you if I could!" Abbie threatened.

"Don't worry, I'm only joking . . . anyway, we defiantly have to send this empty vial to the lab," he said reassuringly, "and maybe we should have another look at Trixie's workplace . . ."

"You mean we should go see Alice again," Abbie smirked.

Jones blushed, "no, its not at all to see Alice! I'm sure there's an important clue hidden in that club!"

"Suuuuure!"

They didn't tell Colin about finding his pictures, or the vile hidden with them. They dropped their stuff at the station then went back to The Blue Flamingo. They searched the tables again but as Abbie suspected there was nothing except a forgotten lipstick tube.

"Okay, so there was nothing," jones admitted not looking upset, "still Alice seems to have forgotten her lipstick! We should return it to her."

"Really?" Abbie asked looking at the deep red shade.

"Oh, come on, it clearly matches her skin tone!" he insisted, "I insist, let's go talk to her!"

She rolled her eyes but let him leader her to the bar where Alice was still restocking the supplies for the night.

"I believe this is yours?" Jones said holding out the lipstick tube.

"Where did you find that lipstick?" she asked taking it, "it's the one Trixie gave me!"

"See Abbie? I was right!" he whispered to her, "I thought Trixie and you weren't close friends though, Alice?"

"We weren't," Alice flushed smiling, "but once I told her I like the shade and she just . . . gave her lipstick to me! She was sweet like that."

"I see . . ." he said nodding along, "hm, excuse me for asking but, what is that perfume your wearing? Its familiar somehow . . ."

"Is it?" she asked confused, "its Eau D'Homme. My ex used to wear it . . . so I grew to like the smell. People say it fits me fine."

"It does indeed!" Jones smiled lovingly, Abbie stepped on his toes behind the bar, "hm! Well, thank you for you time Alice."

Alice smiled and waved them goodbye. They walked out to their car and got inside to head back to the station and see what Grace had for them. She was waiting for them at the receptionist desk when they came in.

"The blood on that hammer is Trixie's," Grace told them, "you've got your murder weapon."

"Woah, have you seen the size of that thing?" Jones asked startled, "no wonder Trixie's face looked a mess!"

Abbie cringed, "I don't even want to think about how much pain she was in, 10 blows . . . with  _that."_

"What about the vile we sent you?" he asked the forensic expert.

"If you wanted to offer me perfume, you could have bought me a bottle, instead of giving me that old sample," Grace said jokingly, "you were inspired though. Colin's perfume matches the brand used on Trixie's fan mail."

"I knew it!" he exclaimed, "Abbie, let's go grill that little creep some more!"

She nodded and they said goodbye to Grace. When they got to the movie theater, Colin stormed out of his projection room red-faced and grinding his teeth.

"Those photos are my property!" he yelled, "you had no right to take them!"

"And  _you_  had no right to stalk these women!" Jones yelled back jabbing a finger in the man's chest, "now, about that perfume sample, what give? I'm sure you can't afford Eau D'Homme with your salary!"

"I got a free sample from the shop, I knew Trixie liked it!" he explained, "but it evaporated a long time ago."

"And those hairs on you vest?" Abbie asked, "you have a cat?"

"I . . . take care of the strays that live behind the cinema," Colin looked confused, "why all those questions? I didn't do anything to Trixie!"

"Well see about that," Jones muttered turning on his heels and walking out. Abbie and Hunter hurried to keep up.

"At this rate," Jones said once outside, "Colin will confess to murdering Trixie before we even find solid proof that he did it! Perfect!"

"Unless he didn't do it," Abbie countered.

"There's that," he agreed, "poor Trixie . . . can you imagine what her last minutes must have been like, getting her face smashed in with that hammer?"

"I don't want to," she shuddered.

"We need to find the sadistic bastard who did that to her, Abbie!" he growled, "I'm counting on your instincts to figure out the truth."

"Do you have any ideas?"

"My guts tell me Colin did it. He's way too creepy to be honest," Jones said looking at the cinema, "what do you say we dig a little deeper in his workplace?"

"Let's go," she agreed.

They snuck back into the cinema and ducked behind a cardboard cut-out when Colin came out of the office. He walked right passed them and left out a back door. They breathed sighs of relief and slipped into the projection room. Abbie took another closer look at the camera and found a necklace with a sliver and gold hearts hanging on it.

"Kinda girly, don't you think?" Jones asked seeing it, "I doubt this belongs to Colin."

"And why would he have a woman's necklace here?" she asked.

His eyes widened, "hey, remember how Lydia told us she'd seen a necklace in Trixie's hand?! Quick, let's see if we can get some prints off of this."

She nodded and dusted the hearts on both sides. She found three sable fingerprints clear as day.

"Let's get this prints to the lab asap and see who touched this necklace,' she said sticking the prints on a paper.

"Alex will be happy," he said, "have we even sent him anything today?"

She pondered it, "no, not today."

"Well, then," Jones smirked, "we can't let him slack off."

_One fingerprint analyses later . . ._

"Hey guys!" Alex grinned as they entered his lab, "thanks for sending something my way, its been a slow day around here."

"Find out who they belong to?" Abbie asked.

"The fingerprints all belong to the same person," he replied "your victim, Trixie."

"So, the necklace did belong to her," Jones concluded, "but how did Colin end up with it then?! Abbie, I think we need to have another chat with him."

"Let's not keep him waiting," Abbie agreed.

They got to the cinema and found Colin coming in from the back ally carrying an empty bag of cat food.

"Look familiar?" Abbie asked holding up the necklace.

"This necklace isn't mine! I never saw this before!" he insisted, "you put it there!"

"Cut the crap Colin!" Jones ordered, "did Trixie refuse to wear it, is that it? It made you so mad . . . so mad you had to kill her!"

"I would never hurt her!!" Colin protested, "I liked to . . . to fallow her home, after her shift. Just to make sure she was safe! But last night . . . I walked too slowly, and when I caught up with Trixie . . . she was dead. And she had that necklace in her hand, and . . . I wanted something to remember her by! If I'd known this came form her killer, I would have never picked it up!"

"I'm sure," he glared.

They left the cinema no closer to finding the killer then they had been before. They drove back to the office and regrouped at their desks.

"At least now we're sure this necklace came from our crime scene," Abbie said swinging it on her finger.

"Unfortunate, this doesn't prove that Colin killed Trixie . . ." Jones sighed kicking his feet up, "I'm stumped. Any brilliant ideas Abbs?"

"Guys," Grace said coming in, "Alex told me about your necklace. D'you know this kind of jewelry usually comes in pairs? There's the one you give to your lover . . . and the one you keep."

"Are you telling us . . .?" he asked shocked.

She smiled, "yes. Trust me, your killer is wearing the same necklace!"

"Thanks Grace," Abbie said. the red-head nodded and left the two alone.

"Well, it looks like Grace just gave us the final piece of our puzzle," Jones said, "let's go put Trixie's killer behind bars!"

They drove over to the Blue Flamingo Club to find the killer. They headed up to the bar and Abbie held up her hand cuffs for Alice to see.

"I was so sure you'd arrest that creep," the barmaid grumbled, "you would have done us all a favor!"

"Colin may be a little intense, but as far as we know, he never bashed a woman's brains in with a hammer!" Jones spat, "now come clean; why did you kill Trixie?"

"I didn't kill her! We just . . . had an argument! look, she loved my letters . . . she'd smile and she'd read them over and over!" Alice reminisced, "so I sent her a note, told her to meet behind that restaurant. I was so excited! But when she got there . . . she acted like she was shocked to see me! She asked me where her admirer was! How stupid could she be?! And then, when I gave her the necklace . . . she dropped it, like it wasn't good enough for her! She said she thought the letters were from a man, she said she didn't like girls! She  _laughed_  at me!! And I got . . . I got so  _angry,_  you know? How could she  _lie_  to me? How could she  _reject_  me?! So, I . . . I grabbed that hammer and I . . . I just . . . I was so angry . . ."

"Alice August, you're under arrest," Abbie said when the woman couldn't continue, "anything you say can and will be used against you in a Court of Law. You have the right to remain silent . . ."

_In the Court Room . . ._

"Alice August, for the murder of Trixie Velvet, this court herby sentences you to 20 years in jail, with a chance for parole in 10 years," Judge Hall delivered the verdict.

"What?" Alice asked flabbergasted, "but . . . you can't do that! I loved Trixie! I would never have hurt her, she just . . . she shouldn't have laughed!"

"I can only hope your time in jail will help you reflect on the  _real_  meaning of love, young lady," she rapped her gavel, "Court if adjourned!"

The audience filled out of he hall and onto the street. Jones and Abbie walked down the side walk to the squad car.

"Have anything to say?" Abbie asked lightly.

"Alright, alright!" Jones cried, "I admit it; I was a fool. Sorry for not believing that a pretty girl like Alice could have committed such a horrible crime."

"At least you learn a valuable lesson," she patted his head.

He shook her off, "I bet Trixie probably didn't see it coming, either. Who could have guessed such a slim woman could be so strong?"

"I can lift you," Abbie said.

He snorted, "no you can't, I'm probably at least double you weight."

She stopped but Jones didn't notice. She smiled evilly and snuck up on him, braced herself and warped an arm around his legs and used the other to steady his back the straightened her leg lifting him a good three feet off the ground.

"Woah! Ok, ok! You were right! Put me down!" he pleaded.

She did as he asked, "you're not  _that_   heavy."

He stepped away from her, "you are freakishly strong, remind me to let you do the tackling."

She laughed as the entered the car. Thy headed back to the station and found Ramirez waiting for them in their office.

"Hey, Abbie!" he smiled, "I heard you and Jones did a great job again!"

"Thank you, Ramirez," she replied.

"You could take me along one of these days," he suggested, "I could learn a few tricks form you."

"Hem . . . we'll see about that . . ." Jones said.

"Anyway, I got two phone calls for you . . . Biff and a certain Lydia Holly seem to need your help," Ramirez pulled a paper from his pocket, "and I've got a restraining order here addressed to Colin Stokes. he was one of your suspects, right? Could you deliver it for me?"

"Colin? Why am I not surprised . . ." he shook his head, "ok, Ramirez, we'll take care of it. I wonder what kind of trouble could Biff and Lydia be in, though."

"We're about to find out," Abbie said taking the restraining order from the field officer.

They drove over to the cinema first to deliver Colin his restraining form. They fond him in his projection room setting u the film in the camera for that nights showing.

"You again?" he asked annoyed, "I hope you're here to apologize for harassing me, this time!"

"You're one to talk!" Jones yelled, "we've got a freshly issued restraining order with your name on it!"

"OH, COME ON!" he belted, "that's . . . that's not even fair! I'm only taking pictures . . . this is  _art,_  nobody gets it!"

"Stalking people is  _art?"_  he asked in disbelief, "in Creepytown maybe, but not in this city!"

"Now do yourself a favour," Abbie said extending her hand, "and hand us over the pictures you took of those girls."

"You . . . you already took them all," Colin said lamely.

"We'll see about that," Jones said, "just let Detective Abbi search the place and particle her art of finding hidden stashes."

Colin grumbled but allowed them to search the room. Abbie quickly went to the desk and found a built in safe where a drawer would be.

"Well done Abbie," Jones whispered, "looks like this weirdo took some extra care after we went through his shoebox . . . but I'm sure it won't stop you, right?"

She smirked and got to work. The safe had a simple four-digit combination lock and it didn't take her long to get the correct sequence of numbers. She dug through the pictures and trinkets until she found an undeveloped roll of fil n a canister.

"A-Ha! Got it! This roll of film must be what we're looking for," Jones cheered, "I'll develop it later so . . . ahem, to be sure, you know."

Abbie did slap him this time, "David!"

"Alright," he flushed, "I'll make sure this film makes its way back to the plaintiff."

"Perfect," she said standing, "let's go talk to our artist."

Colin looked up from reading the restraining order when they stopped in front of him.

"Ok, Colin," Jones said, "this film better be the last of it. Don't make us come back, got it?"

"Yes, that's the last of it! You've robbed me of all my work, assholes!" Colin shouted.

"What was that?!" he asked steaming, "ok weirdo, you just got yourself a ticket!"

He wrote out the ticket on his pad and tore it off to give to the projectionist who slapped it on the desk on top of the restraining order. They left the cinema had got to the Blue Flamingo Club. Biff was outside guarding the doors looking worried.

"Thanks for coming so quick Jones," Biff breathed, "I'm in a bit of trouble here. You know Cordero, The Vipers gang's leader?"

"We've heard of him indeed," Jones confirmed, "did he trash the place or something?"

"No, not at all!" he denied, "actually, he's a regular client. Money ain't no smell, right? but Mr. Marconi doesn't see it like this, and if he knew I let Cordero in . . ."

"He might not be too happy?" Abbie suggested.

Biff nodded, "but this idiot lost his lighter here the last time he came, and I can't find it! If Mr. Marconi does, I'll be in deep shit!"

"Don't worry Biff," Jones assured, "we're gonna help you out on this one."

"Ah, thanks man!" he grinned, "go right on in, there's no one around right now."

He opened the doors for them and they entered the darkened club. Abbie found the lights switch and flicked on the Florissant and neon lights. Now that they could see, Jones searched the bar and couches while Abbie took the dancefloor and tables. She picked up a sliver lighter with her gloved hand and saw that the Vipers insignia was engraved on both sides.

"Got it!" She called over.

"Good catch, Abbs!" Jones said coming over, "you know what? Since Cordero has no police record, we should try to find his fingerprints on the lighter before handing it over to Biff."

"Good idea," she said getting her dust out. She got a set of usable prints off of the lighter to send to the lab.

"Good!" Jones said, "now we can have Alex process them into the central database."

"Then we can see what Lydia wants."

They explained to Biff what they we're going to do but that they would return the lighter to him as soon as they could. They dropped the prints off with Alex for him to work with, then drove over to Lydia's apartment where the older woman was waiting for them on her front steps.

"Oh great, you're here!" she smiled sweetly, "I am really embarrassed . . . I was watching the alley through the window as usual, but I dropped my binoculars!"

"Well, I guess there some where's around here, then," Jones said biting back a different comment, "I'm pretty sure you can find them without police assistance . . ."

"Oh, but you know, it can be dangerous here for an old lady like me . . ." Lydia explained, "so I figured I'd better have a handsome Policeman help me find them!"

"Err . . . I see. Detective Abbie and I will find them fast then," Jones looked at his partner pleadingly, "like really, really fast right Abbie?"

Abbie held back the urge to laugh, "quicker then light speed."

"Thank you, officers," Lydia said, "I think they dropped around the dumpsters over there."

They walked down the alley to the area she had pointed them to. They moved the dumpsters away from the wall and found a pile of smashed binocular pieces.

"Oh crap, the binoculars are shattered!" Jones cried, "better see if we can fix them. Anything to get this over with . . ."

Abbie got out the glue and tweezers and pieced together the binoculars. They were an older style so they had lots of small parts in hard to reach places. But she got them assembled and the cracks weren't even noticeable.

"Well done Abbie! Let's bring the old crone her binoculars, so everybody can get back to their business," Jones said.

"You planning on asking her out? Mr. Handsome Policeman?" Abbie teased.

"What?! Of course not, I don't want to ask her out!" he yelped, "come on, she's at least 130 years old!"

She grabbed the dumpster to stop herself from falling, "your face! Ha! I wish you could have seen it!"

"That was not funny. Just . . . never mind, let's go," he groaned.

Lydia was waiting for them at her front steps with a plate of hot cookies and lemonade.

"Here you are, Mrs. Holly," Abbie held the binoculars out to her, "your binoculars."

"Oh, thank you so much," she accepted them, she turned to Jones, "you know Officer Jones, there are a lot of nasty people with snake tattoos hanging around here. It would be nice of you to come by more often . . . for protection, you know?"

"Or . . . I could tell the guys to send more patrols here!" Jones suggested, he faked hearing his radio, "you hear that Abbie? Ramirez is calling on the radio, we should go, right now!"

"Wait Officers!" Lydia stopped them, "I made you cookies to reward your kindness, take them with you."

She handed him the bags with the cookies but they couldn't take the lemonade with them. Jones quickly ushered Abbie into the car before diving in and speeding off from the apartment. Abbie opened her mouth to make a comment but was cut off by her phone.

"Murphy," she answered.

"Its done guys," Alex said, "Cordero's fingerprints are now in our database. Sorry I took so long; I was really busy."

"I though you said it was a slow day?" she asked.

"I had non-case related work which needed my attention," he said sounding sophisticated.

She hummed, "let's go with that. But don't worry about the wait time, Alex, its always wort it. See you later."

They hung up and Jones steered the car down the road leading to the Blue Flamingo Club. Biff was still outside but this time he was sitting in a chair.

"Here you go Biff, Cordero's lighter," Jones said giving it to the blurry bouncer, "nevertheless, you should be more careful . . . you play a dangerous game, letting him in here."

"I know Jones, your right," Biff sighed, "I'm not going to let it happen again. If Mr. Marconi were to run into Cordero in his own club, things could get ugly. Anyway, thanks for the helping hand, I owe one to the both of you!"

"Don't worry about that Biff," Abbie smiled, "its our job to help."

He smiled back, "I know, but don't hesitate to ask me for help sometime."

"We won't," Jones promised.


	12. Burned To The Bone

"I didn't think I would investigate these many murders when I graduated," Abbie commented reviewing the reports on her computer.

"You've done a great job at putting all these murderers behind bars," Jones said, "but the bodies just keep coming!"

"Its kinda-"

_'RING! RING!'_

Jones picked up the receiver phone, "Jones speaking . . . alright . . . really? . . . ok, what's the address? . . . we'll be there shortly, bye."

He hung up the phone, "Ramirez say a fire in the abandoned parking lot. And as he went to put it out . . . that's when he spotted the body."

"Poor Ramirez," Abbie said.

"He said, and I quote, "it was the sickest, most disgusting thing I've ever seen! And I've seen a lot of disgusting things!" Jones recited, "I told him we'd handle it. I just hope you can stomach it Abbs!"

"I think I'm can stomach it more then you can," she teased playfully.

"Ha, ha, let's just go now," he said grabbing the keys.

They got to the abandoned parking lot to find the police officers sealing off the scene and the fire department putting out the flames in the center of the lot. The two-detective got out of the car and tracked down Ramirez waiting for them with Nathan.

"Good, you're here," Ramirez said, "the fire department is almost done. They just have to clear the area now."

"And then we get to work," Abbie said.

"Do we have any leads?" Jones asked.

Ramirez shook his head, "no, the place was empty when I arrived. But I did manage to retrieve the victim's ID card before the flames got to bad."

He held out the plastic Grimsborough ID card given to residents. The card had a picture of a twenty-eight-year-old man with fair skin and brown hair. The name on the card was Chad Whickman.

"Well, lets get him autopsied, see what else we can find out," Jones said.

"What  _I_  can find out," Nathan cut in.

"Ya, ya, what is this, everybody pick on Jones day?"

"Sounds like a fun holiday," Abbie grinned.

Nathan laughed, "wonder if we can get the day off?"

The Fire Chief came up to them, "we're done now officers, the scene is safe for you to work now."

"Thank you, sir," Ramirez said, "Detectives Abbie and Jones will take it from here."

"Come Nathan," Abbie said, "let's get you a body to play with."

He laughed, "you make them sound like toys."

He opened the van doors and slid out the gurney to roll over to the body. The three of them walked to the center of the lot and found the chard body of Chad Whickman laying there with his arm out stretched to a slip of crinkled paper.

"Ugh, look at this corpse!" Jones gaged turning green, "I don't think we'll be eating BBQ any time soon."

"What are you talking about?" Nathan asked, "he's just a little crispy."

"Ugh! Nate, that's just gross! Have some compassion for once!" he yelled.

"Sorry," he said.

"Look at his hand," Abbie said crouching down, "he's got the Vipers sign tattooed on it."

"The Vipers! Ugh! Not again!" Jones complained, "it also appears as if Chad was reaching out for that note in his final moment."

She picked it up, "top balcony, don't be late again. Rose. But the address is to faded to read."

"Think you could decode it so we can pay this Rose a visit and see if she knew Chad?" he asked.

"You do you think your talking to?"

She flattened the paper out on her knee and wrote the address down on a sticky note as she decoded it.

"25 Whisp Lane," Abbie announced.

"Well, let's not keep this Rose waiting any longer," Jones said.

"See you later Nathan!" Abbie called as they left the scene.

"Alavidā!" he yelled back.

They got into their squad car and navigated to the address. They walked up the flights of stairs inside the cute apartment complex to the top floor where they found the door belonging to Rose. They knocked twice and waited until a Hispanic woman in a red dress answered it looking distraught.

"Can I help you officers?" she asked.

"Ma'am, did you know a Chad Whickman?" Abbie asked.

Rose's hand flew to cover her mouth, "did? Chad is gone?"

"I'm so sorry, he was found in the abandoned parking lot a few hours ago," she informed, "he was reaching for a note with your name and address on it."

"I . . . I waited for Chad all night," she cried snakingly, "I knew it in my mind, but my heart refused to . . . to believe it . . . that my one true love was dead."

"Did you know Chad belonged to a gang?" Jones asked.

"My brother Troy made sure I knew," Rose glared, "as gang leader of the Skulls, Troy refused to let Chad in here. Even though this is MY place! As if we cared what they all thought! The Vipers and the Skulls have been at war for years. But Chad and I looked beyond all that hatred and found love."

"We are sorry for you're lose Rose," Abbie said sincerely, "if anything else comes up, may we come talk to you again?"

Rose nodded, "yes, of course. Anything to find Chad's killer."

The Hispanic woman excused herself and walked down the hall. They heard a door close and water start running.

"What a heartbreaking story," Jones sighed, "they're just like Romeo and Juliet. Don't these gangs hold anything sacred?!"

"Unfortunately, . . . no," Abbie replied looking around the studio.

"They'll fight 'til there's nothing left . . . and that's why we've got to stop them first!" he grinded his teeth, "Abbie, I don't want to trouble Rose any longer but we should still have a quick look around her studio."

"Way ahead of you," she said holding up a torn letter she picked up off the coffee table.

"Whoever tore it up wanted to make sure nobody would read it," he suspected, "you should find out why."

She spread out the pieces of paper and taped them back together to form a love letter.

"I'm no expert," she said reading it, "but I think this is a love letter."

"A pretty lame one," Jones said reading over her shoulder, "Rose, my love for you is driving me mad. I swear I'm gonna do something crazy . . . bla bla bla . . . signed Big Baby."

"I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say this isn't form Chad."

"I don't think this Big Baby character is Chad either," Jones agreed, "so much for Rose's Romeo and Juliet scenario . . . Abbs, let's go ask her how many one true loves she really has!"

They knocked on the bedroom door and called through it for Rose.

"Can you explain to us about this letter?" Abbie asked holding it out.

"Big Baby keeps sending me those letters!" Rose cried, "its not like I want him to! He's just a gross perv who pretended to be Chad's friend so he could come hit on me."

"You know where we could find him?" Jones inquired.

"It shouldn't be to hard," she said whipping her eyes, "look for the ugliest, fattest Viper and that'll be him. The Vipers always hang out on the streets. You can't miss them."

"We will leave you alone now," Abbie said leading her partner out of the apartment.

Once they were out side Jones looked around the streets, "we should also find Troy and that him to the station. Rose said he's always hanging nearby to keep an eye on her . . . this will give her a bit of a break."

"I'll call Ramirez to come and pick him up," Abbie said pulling out her cellphone.

After a quick conversation with their field officer, he told them he would be there shortly and find Troy for them. They thanked him and left Whisp Lane to drive around the Vipers known hang out spots for Big Baby. Rose had been right when she said that it wouldn't be hard to find him, the large man in blue clothing stood out against the dark brick wall like a neon sign.

"Big Baby?" Abbie asked not think she'd ever say those words in greeting, "we're here to talk to you about the murder of Chad Whickman."

"Chad's dead?" he asked in surprise, "shiiiiiiiiiiit . . ."

"Enough!" he barked, "we read you love letter, you must be happy now you have Rose all to yourself."

"Okay. Yeah. I'm in love with Rose, man," Big Baby admitted, "I mean, you've seen her right? mighty fine. But last, I heard, crushing on someone ain't illegal . . . besides, even with Chad gone, I'm no fool: her brother would kill me if he saw me with her. C'mon man, I may be fat but I ain't crazy, yo."

He stalked off before they could ask him another question.

"I hate gang members!" Jones yelled kicking a garbage bag, "they act like everything is one big fat joke!"

"Interesting chose of words," Abbie rolled her eyes.

He chuckled, "then again, I guess Big Baby doesn't need to do much acting for that."

"Lighten up on the fat jokes, will ya?"

"Sorry."

They drove back to the station to interrogate Troy Cassidy about his connection to the victim. Ramirez had placed the Skulls' leader in their room for them.

"Troy Cassidy," Abbie said, "Detectives Abbie and Jones. We discovered that your sister and our victim Chad Whickman were in a relationship."

"I looked like a fool for letting my sister Rose bring that Viper into our home!" Troy cried throwing his arms in the air, "but I ain't gonna lie. The kid's death came as a blessing, man. One less problem to solve, you know what I'm sayin'?"

"I know what it sounds like," Jones glared, "you killed a kid because he wasn't form YOUR gang!"

"Naw, man. You got it all wrong," he said honestly, "I'd never hurt my lil' sista like that. Family before honour, that's the Skulls way. Can I go now? Cuz' I could really kill for a smoke, man."

"We have nothing else," Abbie told him. The red-clad man got up and left the room. They fallowed moments after him and headed to their office space. Nathan was waiting for them at Abbie's desk, fiddling with the wooden puzzle box she kept on her desk.

"Hey!" she yelped snatching out of his hands, "don't mess with this!"

Nathan held up his hands in surrender, "sorry, I wasn't gonna open it. Promise."

"Its fine," she sighed placing it back next to the framed picture of a meteor shower in France.

"What did you find out in the autopsy?" Jones asked.

"As you most probably guessed, the victim was burned alive with the use of gasoline," he said board.

"You almost so disappointed," Abbie smirked.

Nathan made a noise of annoyance, "its not even creative! And it makes the autopsy so hard to do when your dealing with an extra crispy corpse!"

"But knowing you, you still found something. Am I right?" she asked.

"Of course, I did," he said sounding offended, "under one of the victim's nails, I found traces of blue fabric torn off the attacker's shirt."

"Which means our killer wears blue clothes!" Jones cut in.

Nathan nodded, "and this is going to sound ridiculous, but I found dandruff on Chad which didn't match his DNA. Which means . . . you're looking for a killer with a really bad dandruff problem."

"Ha ha ha!" he laughed, but seeing the look on the ME's face he sobered quickly, "oh wait . . . you're actually serious? Huh."

"I never joke about evidence," he said.

"I can't wait to see how that holds up in court," Abbie laughed.

 ***BUZZ***  "Detective Abbie in my office, NOW!"  ***BUZZ***

"We have an intercom?" she asked looking up.

Jones shrugged, "Chief doesn't really use it, says its better to talk face to face. He must want to talk to you bad if he's not wasting time to come get you."

"Well, better go before he rings again," she said hurrying down the hall to their boss's office, Hunter by her side.

The woman and dog skidded into the office on their heels and Abbie snapped into position once in the room.

"You called Chief?" she said.

He looked impressed, "that was fast."

"I try," she grinned.

"It's mayhem out there, Abbie! The Vipers want revenge for Chad Whickman's death and they don't care who gets hurt in the process!" King informed. "Abbie, if you don't get that no-good Jones off his ass and on the killer's trail, I swear there will be trouble!"

"With all do respect, Chief. So far we only know that the killer is wearing blue clothes and has a really bad dandruff problem."

He looked surprised, "how do you-?"

"Nathan," was all Abbie said.

"Of course," he nodded satisfied with the answer, "but I mean it Detective! You're a good element but if you fail this case I'll have you both working under Ramirez! Now go tell Jones!"

"Yes Chief!" she saluted.

Her and Hunter left the office and got back to their own work space to find Jones and Nathan waiting for them.

"So, why did King what to see you?" Jones asked smiling. She relayed the conversation they just had and his smiled quickly fell and he started to sweat, "really?! King said all that?!"

Nathan snickered, "you two are in trouble!"

"Ha, ha! Laugh it up you," Jones glared, "you should be thankful that you don't have to worry about working under Ramirez."

At the mention of his name, Ramirez entered the office, "Jones, Abbie, a certain Miss Cassidy is here and wants o speak with you."

"Well be right there, Ramirez," he said shooting a dirty look at the field officer as he left.

"Hold on a second!" Nathan exclaimed before they could leave, "Abbie, I think you should go sweep the crime scene. I'm looking for something that could ignite gasoline: matches, lighters . . . you get the idea."

 _"We'll_  try our best Nathan," Jones growled shooting him a glare worse then the one he gave Ramirez, "but first we got to talk to Rose, I'll met you there Abbie."

He stormed out of the office leaving behind one confused partner, a perplexed puppy, and a dejected coroner.

"What did I do?" Nathan asked numbly.

Abbie placed a hand on his shoulder, "nothing, he's just worried about King's threat. He'll be back to normal once he's had time to cool off."

"Maybe . . ." he mumbled walking off back to his morgue.

Abbie sighed and looked down at Hunter, "you got anything, girl?"

The puppy shook her head in response.

"Didn't think so," she replied heading out to find Jones and Rose.

After asking some of the other officers around the building, she finally found her partner and suspect waiting for her in the lobby. Rose was still crying while Jones tried to get her to talk. But the woman kept shaking her head,

"I said I'd only talk when Detective Abbie is here!" she shouted.

"I'm here," Abbie said, "what's the matter Rose?"

"I really need to talk to you, Detective Abbie," she said whipping her eyes and digging through her purse, "while I was cleaning up, I found this job advertisement that he seemed pretty excited about . . . its form the day he died. I'm sure of it because I remember him spilling his coffee on it!"

"Thank you Rose," she said taking the stained, crinkled paper.

"I hope this helps you catch the killer before the Vipers do," she said sternly, "I want them to be met with justice, not violence."

Whit the job done, Rose left the station with her head held high. Abbie looked at the paper in her hands and found most of it to be soaked in the bark brown liquid.

"Abbie, can you make any sense of the job identification number?" Jones asked.

She didn't say anything. She located the spot where the number was and read out the string of numbers and letters to ham. They stuck the note onto the newspaper clipping and sent it up to Alex with one of the receptionists. They got into their car and drove off to re-sweep the crime scene for igniters.

"Is there a reason why your taking your anger out on Nathan?" Abbie asked from behind the wheel.

"What? I'm not taking my anger out on him," he defended.

"Oh? So, you normally growl at your friends when they ask for a favor?" she countered.

He turned to look out the window, "maybe . . . besides, its none of your businesses how I treat my friends."

"It is when you treat them like a demon or something!" she yelled. "you should have seen him when you left, you'd think he had his heart ripped out!"

"I-he did?"

"Of course, he did! You growled at him when he asked me to sweep the crime scene again for him!"

"That's because he asked _you_  to!"

She blinked, "what do you mean?"

"Oh, come on! Don't act like your innocent!" Jones shouted, "he asked  _you_  to sweep the crime scene, not  _me!_  Or  _us!_   _you!"_

"Your jealous."

"I am not!"

"You are," Abbie said firmly, "your scared that I'm going to steal your friend."

"My  _best_  friend," he replied, "we've been friends for years and he has always come to me first for stuff, whether it be for a case, about Avi or just personal stuff. It was always me he'd come to . . . now, it seems he doesn't need me as much . . ."

"Jones . . ." she sighed, "I'm sure Nathan still values you as his best friend . . . tell you what, when we get back to the station, you are going to apologize to him and then we are going to have a talk."

"But-!"

She stopped the car, "no buts. Now, we have evidence to look for."

They go out of the car and walked onto the deserted scene. Abbie looked around while Jones stood watch for vandals. She found part of a shoe print on one of the speed bumps and took on impression of it. She also found a burnt cigarette butt near where Chad's body had been burned. She returned to her partner with her findings.

"Abbs, that foot print is barely visible . . ." Jones said, "but on the other hand, Alex can work miracles, maybe he'll still be able to get something out of it."

"What about this cigarette? It could have ignited the gasoline," Abbie suggested.

"Let's examine it first to see if it could be of interest to Nathan," he said looking around, "and . . . and . . . what on earth is Big Baby doing here?!"

Abbie whipped her head around to see where he was looking. Sure enough, the Viper was inside the area sealed off by police tape and was snooping around for something. Jones marched over to him in a fit of rage.

"Big Baby, this is a crime scene!" he reminded, "what do you think you're doing here?!"

"Looking for my own clues to prove it was the Skulls who went and killed Chad!" he replied, "I always wanted to be a detective, ever since I was a kid!"

"Oh yah?" he asked skeptically, "and what stopped you?"

"I hate cops!" he laughed loudly taking a puff from his cigarette.

"Beat it before we give you another reason to hate us!" he ordered, "and I hope for your sake that is tobacco you're smoking!"

Big Baby walked away from them, flicking his cigarette away as he turned the corner.

"Yeah well, for a gang that hates cops so much they sure do keep us close!" Jones spate.

Abbe hummed, "well, while you two were talking, I found some molecules on this cigarette butt."

"Great job!" he congratulated, "let's hope these molecules are of some use to Nathan."

They drove back to the station and dropped the sample off with Nathan then dropped the imprint off with Alex and to see what he found out about the job advertisement.

"Results are in!" Alex announced, "the work ad that Chad was looking at is for a clerk job at a local mini-market . . . here's the address."

Jones took the print out and skimmed it, "I can't believe it! This is Joe Stern's shop! And its right across the street form the crime scene!"

"Oh yeah . . ." Abbie said, "I remember him. He was a suspect in "Corpse in the Garden."

"One of your very first cases, you've come a long way since then," he added, "let's go catch up with Joe, see what he's been up to."

"Bye Alex!" Abbie yelled as they left.

"See ya!" he called back.

..........................................................................................................................

The bell above the door jingled to signal their entrance into the mini-market. Joe appaired from behind the shelves carrying a box labelled "SIMPLY CHOCOLATE."

"Joe?" Abbie asked, "have you received a job application from a Chad Whickman?"

"I got a lot of job applications but from a Chad Whickman?" he thought about it, "I don't think so . . . and I'm sorry but the applications I don't like, I throw away."

"Have you seen anybody suspicious come into your shop lately?" Jones questioned.

"Apart form the Viper gang who continues to vandalize my shop and steal from me everyday? Hmmm . . . no," Joe deadpanned.

"The Police Department is here to help you, Joe," he informed, "but if you don't tell us, we can't help. Now, would you mind if we had a look around your shop?"

"Sure, just don't steal anything," he joked walking out the storage room door.

The two-detective searched the store shelves for anything that proved chad had been there, but found nothing of interest. In a last resort Abbie grabbed the trash can to look through.

"Nothing here . . ." Jones concluded, "Joe! Is it okay with you if we through the trash?"

Joe poked his head out, "sorry, for a moment I thought you were cops, not trash collectors. But yeah, go right ahead if that's what you like."

He went back into the storage room leaving them along again. Abbie pulled the can outside before pulling off the trash can lid. She shifted through the trash with her gloved hands and pulled out some job application forms. She checked the names on the papers and found their victim's amongst them.

"Jackpot!" she proclaimed, "it's the job applications from Chad. At least it proves he was here . . ."

"And seeing how Joe hates the Vipers, I doubt he even read the job application . . ." Jones sighed, "never even gave Chad a chance at starting an honest life. But then again, I don't think Joe is nice to anybody."

"They say retail is one of the most stressful jobs."

He snorted, "and don't you think for someone selling anti-dandruff shampoo, he'd try the product?"

She shrugged, "not sponsored?"

They got into the car and pulled away from the curb.

"You know what, Troy had dandruff too . . ." Jones mused, "Abbs, let's go take a closer look at the mess Troy keeps making in his sister's kitchen. See if he's not hiding anything."

"Rodger," she answered.

"Actually, its David," he smirked.

Abbie groaned and resisted the urge to facepalm while driving. She parked across the road from Rose's apartment complex and they crossed the pavement to the buildings front steps. They climbed the stairs to her floor and knocked on the door. This time it was Troy who answered it.

"What are you doing here?!" he demanded.

"We've come to search the studio," Abbie replied calmly.

"Not that it's anything to do with you," Jones glared.

"No way," he chewed out, "I won't allow any cops in my house!"

"This isn't even your home!" he yelled pushing his way inside, "and instead of wasting our time, I suggest you go do something about your dandruff! I mean, really!"

Troy mumbled something about "damn cops" but didn't throw them out, yet. Abbie searched the small kitchen area while Jones watched her back. She looked in the cupboards, drawers, inside the oven, heck, she even checks the cookie jar! But found nothing, not one thing.

She turned around and shook her head.

"What?" Jones looked startled, "Abbie, your telling me that you found nothing?! Not one thing?! This is a first!"

"Sorry," she said dejected.

"Huh, well don't worry Abbs, I guess Rose cleans up a bit too well . . ." he tried to comfort his partner, "now, let's go see if Troy's calmed down."

Abbie looked over at the couch, "you feel like talking to us, Troy?"

"Can't you just give me a break!" Troy cried, "I meant it! Don't you cops ever give up?!"

"If you want us to leave you alone, all you need to do is cooperate," Jones informed him.

"... fine. Look man, I heard the Viper gang leader, Salvador Cordero, he likes dousing his victims in gasoline and setting them on fire," he explained, "right, I've said my piece so now you betta give me my own peace!"

This time he did throw them out. He slammed the door shut in their faces and they heard the deadbolt slid into place.

"Even if Troy is laying about Salvador, I think it's the perfect excuse to finally go meet him!" Jones said, "what do you think, Abbie?"

"I love meeting the new neighbors," she grumbled voice dripping with sarcasm.

They drove around the Industrial Area for hours trying to find the Viper gang leader. After stopping for a gas refill, and a snack fill, they asked the shop clerk if she knew where to find him. The teen popped her gum bubble and directed them to the block where the Vipers usually hung out at this time. They thanked her and payed for their stuff. They drove over to the address she'd given them and found only one man dressed in blue there.

"Salvador Cordero?" Jones called over showing his badge, "I'm Detective Jones and this is my partner Detective Abbie. We're here to ask if you knew a Chad Whickman and that he was trying to leave your gang."

"you kidding? Of course, I knew Chad was trying to quit the gang!" Salvador belted out a laugh, "that was the whole plan! Letting Chad go live with his girl was like sending Troy a big fuck you with a bow on it. I knew it'd make him mad."

"And you wanted to make him made because . . .?" Abbie asked.

"I wanted Troy to kill Chad," he said, "I've been wanting a reason to go to war with him. Now I've got one."

Jones blinked, "I don't know if you're stupid or fearless but you're doing a pretty good job at incriminating yourself, Salvador."

"As if a cockroach like you could ever put me behind bars," he tisked, "good luck with that, pig."

He left them to see themselves off while smoking a whole pack of cigarettes as he left.

"You realize Salvador can terrorize the streets easy enough, but can't get rid of dandruff. He's gout his priorities all wrong," Jones smirked, "and I've never seen someone smoke so many cigarettes in so little time. That was just freaky."

"Agreed," Abbie said, "let's go see what Alex and Nathan have for us."

............................................................................................................................

They checked in with the tech geek first for the results on the partial shoeprint they sent him.

"You didn't give me much of a shoeprint to work with . . ." Alex said typing on his computer, ". . . but I did manage to find out the type of shoe it is. Your killer was wearing sports shoes."

"Jeez, Alex," Jones smirked, "how long did it take you to figure that out?"

He hummed, "an hour, tops."

Abbie chuckled, "good Alex."

They left the tech lab and pressed the down button for the elevator. They got inside and Jones pressed the basement button for the morgue.

"So, Abbie, who do we know with sport shoes?" Jones pondered, "there's Rose with her red trainers . . ."

"I remember Troy also has red trainers," she recalled.

"Oh, and there's Big Baby's stupid blue ones!"

"It's a good start," she said as the elevator dinged open, "we better keep our eyes open."

He nodded while the doors to the morgue slid open for them. Nathan was making himself a cup of coffee and had just finished when they come in.

"Namastē," he said, "the molecules you took off the cigarette match the gas molecules taken off the victim's body. This proves this is the cigarette that was used to ignite the gasoline that burnt Chad. Which means your killer smokes."

"Nicely done, Nathan!" Jones grinned, "Abbs we're defiantly getting closer."

She nodded, "anything else you wanted to say, Jones?"

He gulped and scratched the back of his head, "uh, yeah . . . look Nate, I'm sorry about snapping at you earlier. I didn't mean what I said."

Nathan set his mug down, "David . . . you we're worried about having to work under Ramirez, I think  _anyone_  wold snap because of that."

"I know . . . but I also let jealousy get the best of me . . ."

"Jealousy? Why would you be jealous?"

"Because your replacing me with Abbie!" he exploded. Nathan, Abbie and Hunter stared at him in stunned silence as he regained his breathing.

"You . . . you really think I would replace you?" Nathan after that pregnant pause, "David . . . why would you think that?"

Jones took a deep breath, "because you asked Abbie to find you that cigarette, not  _me_. You always ask me for help, even if you know I can't do it! Plus, you told her about Avi and she's only been here a for two months, months! I didn't find out for almost a year!"

He sighed, "for the record, I didn't tell her about Avi, she found out. And with that clue, I knew you were mad about King's threat, and I didn't want to make it worse . . . but I promise, Abbie could never replace you."

"Yeah? Well she seems to be becoming your best friend rather quickly . . ." he grumbled.

Nathan couldn't help it, he laughed, "best friend? David, I haven't viewed you as my best friend in years!"

"WHAT?!" both Jones and Abbie cried.

"Arf?" Hunter barked tilting her head.

"But-but-!" Abbie tried to get out the words, "but Jones told me you go to him for everything!"

"I do," Nathan agreed, "but as relationships go . . . I view him more as a big brother . . . a stubborn, thick-headed, annoying, pain in the butt brother, but a big brother none the less."

"You-you-!" Jones stuttered, "come here you!"

He tackled the Head ME into a head lock and delivered a rough noogie to his head. He knocked the blue lab hat off and proceeded to mess the black hair up even more then it already was.

"Stop! I give! I give!" Nathan laughed trying to pry the hands off.

"Nope! You gotta pay for your crime, little brother," he grinned switching tactics and attacking Nathan's sides. The smaller man let out a fit of giggles and swatted at the offending hands but Jones wasn't backing down.

"Hunter!" Nathan panted, "help!"

The dog sprang into action and latched herself to Jones gun holster with her teeth. She tugged on it with all her might, but Jones was stronger. Abbie was almost keeled over from laughing so hard but remained standing.

"Enough!" she finally managed to laugh out, "Jones, we have a case to solve."

"Right," he panted releasing Nathan. The ME dropped back into his chair trying to catch his breath. He waved them goodbye as they left the morgue. They when to their office and updated their profiles thinking back to which suspects they knew already smoked.

"Oh no," Jones paled.

"What?" Abbie asked.

"There aren't any fresh leads Abbie," he elaborated, "and if King sees us "loitering around" as he calls it, he will kill us!"

"I think you exaggerating," she said.

"Maybe," he didn't sound convinced, "you know how our killer is wearing sports shoes?"

"How could I forget?"

"Well, when we were talking to Salvador, I was so angry I forgot to mention he was wearing a pair. So that's one more," he said.

"And Joe had some to," she recalled.

"Your right," he cried slapping his forehead, "damn it, does everyone in this city wear them?!this is of no help at all! And seeing how Joe hates the Vipers so much, I'm surprised he has the same shoes as them! You know what, let's go see how he's doing. At least it will get us out of the office."

"Just let me updated their profiles," she said opening the editing program.

..................................................................................................................................

"A Viper gang member is dead, and so what! All worthless scum the lot of 'em. You shouldn't be investigating, you should be celebrating!" Joe declared, "I've had enough with you! Whatever you want to do, just make it quick. I wanna go on my cigarette break."

"You know," Jones said, "Chad's killer set him on fire with a cigarette butt . . ."

"And?" he asked, "lots of people smoke. It's not a crime!"

"It is if you kill someone with it," he countered, "anyway. Detective Abbie would like to have a look at your counter. Step aside, Joe."

Joe shrugged and stepped out from behind the counter. Abbie took his place and checked the shelves for anything they could use. She reached her hand into the back of the top shelf and pulled out a smashed tape. She stood up cradling it in her hands for Jones to see.

"That's a CCTV surveillance tape!" Jones exclaimed looking at Joe, "you could have told us you had a CCTV camera."

"I used to have a CCTV camera," Joe rolled his eyes, "but the Vipers kept breaking it, so I stopped fixing it. So sorry for not telling you I had a broken CCTV camera. Since you found the tape, you can throw it away."

"Yeah, I don't think so," he said, "Abbie, why don't you check and see if you can fix this tape for us."

"On it!" she saluted. They bagged the tape pieces to take back to the station.

Once back in their own office, Abbie got out her tools and repaired the CCTV tape. Luckily the fil hadn't been damaged unlike the casing so it was hard to put back together.

"Great job, Abbie," Jones said, "but this doesn't mean the tape is guaranteed to work. Let's see what Alex can do with it."

_One CCTV tape analyses later . . ._

"I have good news!" Alex proclaimed to the detectives.

"And that good news would be . . .?" Abbie asked.

"Good news is that the CCTV tape works . . . a little," he explained, "it's obviously been badly broken . . . but I managed to recover some footage. Footage form the night of the murder actually . . . the CCTV camera was turned away from the mini-market so it didn't film anything there . . . but it did film the murder happening across the street in the parking lot."

"No way!" Jones exclaimed wide eyed.

"Now its to fuzz to make out a face . . ." Alex informed, "but by using Chad's height as a measurement, I did manage to deduce your killer is 6 feet tall."

"That's everything we need," Abbie smiled.

"What d'ya say?" he asked, "shall we go catch our killer?"

"We shall," she replied.

They got in their squad car and drove straight over to the mini-market. They found Joe restoking the rack of magazines and news papers.

"Joe Stern, I'm placing you under arrest for the gruesome murder of Chad Whickman!" Jones said getting his cuff ready.

"You want to arrest me for that?!" Joe gapped, "every day the Vipers come in here and destroy my shop. Every day! And then this low-life Viper comes in all smiles and asking for a job! At first, I was too shocked to do anything . . . but then my legs started moving again. Then my arms. and before I knew it, I had poured gasoline all over him. And then I flicked my cigarette at him and woosh! See, I finally stood up to that scum. I'm a hero! I deserve a medal for bravery!"

"Medal for sadistic is more like it," Abbie said, "you have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a Court of Law . . ."

_In, you guessed it, the Court of Law . . .!_

"Mr. Stern, do you have any last thing to say before you receive your sentence?" Judge Hall asked.

"My only regret is that I didn't get to kill more of them!" Joe growled.

"Mr. Stern!" she gasped along with most of the court room.

"It's true!" he thundered, "if I was bigger, meaner and there were more of me, I would have killed them all! It's what they deserve!"

"YOU'RE A HEARTLESS MONSTER!" Rose yelled getting up form her seat.

"Look how you're upsetting MY girl, yo!" Big Baby called him his spot.

Rose whipped around to glare at him, "I'm not your girl, idiot!"

"There's nothing wrong with dreaming, girl," he laughed.

"Silence in the Court!" Hall ordered rapping her gavel. When they had quieted she continued, "Mr. Stern, not only for your sick crime, but also for your unrepentant nature, I hereby sentence you twenty to life."

"Count yourself lucky carbon," Salvador told the shop clerk, "with us it would have just been life!"

Judge Hall dismissed the court before a riot could break out. Jones and Abbie filed out with the crowed and split off to their own car.

"I guess I got a bit too carried away with the lovers' story to realize the killing had nothing to do with the gangs," Jones said embarrassed, "lucky you were here to keep a straight head, Abbie. Another job well done."

"Now . . . let's see how many days we can get through without another murder," Abbie snickered.

He rolled his eyes, "I'm think of putting up one of the "Days Without Accidents" but change it to "Days Without Murders."

She laughed as they climbed into the car, "some how I don't think we would make it to the one-month mark."

"I was think a week would be impressive," he laughed along with her, "I'm a bit worried about Rose though, maybe we should drop by her place and check on her. Just to see how she's cooping with her boyfriend's death . . ."

The radio cracked and Ramirez's voice came from the speakers, "hey guys! Somebody just reported an act of vandalism on your crime scene. The vandal's description we got was . . . "a fat douchebag decked out, like a clown".

"Mmh . . ." Jones hummed, "don't ask me why, but I'd bet my next paycheck said guy is Big Baby . . . Ramirez, Abbie will meet you at the parking lot shortly to take care of it."

"Great! Some action, at last!" he cheered, "we also got word that Salvador Cordero has been seen trying to break into Stern's mini-market, somebody should check that out."

"We're on it," Abbie answered.

"Here's what we'll do," Jones said, "I'll drop you off at the station and you take your bike over to the parking lot, I'll head over to the mini-market and keep Salvador busy till you arrive."

"Good plan," she agreed as he gunned the gas.

In less then a half-hour, Abbie was on her bike with Hunter in her backpack for transport. She drove over to the parking lot in front of Jones in the squad car. They split up at the intersection and she pulled up next to Ramirez's car. She got off and took Hunter out of the bag and removed her helmet.

"Watcha doin' here Skully?!" Big Baby yelled at Troy Cassidy, "admiring yo lameass painting?!"

"Imma kick ya fat ass if you don't get it out of here fast, sneaky git," Troy sneered.

"HEY!" Ramirez called stepping between the two, "what's going on?!"

"Imma tell you what the fuck is going on, man!" Big Baby said, "'dis moron is trying to make Vipers look like damn tools with this graffiti!"

"The hell I did, dickhead!" Troy cut in, "I've just come here 'cause I got word that a chubby blue chicken was sprayin' shit on my territory!"

"Who you call a-"

"Hey, ch-chill out all ready," Ramirez pleaded sweating, "Detective Abbie will sort this out. Both of you just stay back while we investigate . . . please."

Big Baby and Troy glared at each other but walked in separate directions from the scene. Abbie stepped up and took a look at the graffiti on the security post. It read "Burn Vipers" in sharp blue paint.

"I'm starting to regret asking for some action . . ." Ramirez muttered joining her, "we should hurry to sort this out before they start killing each other, Detective."

"Just Abbie, please," she said looking around. She swept her eyes across the ground and narrowed in on a can of blue spray paint a few yards away.

"No wonder Big Baby is so angry," he said reading the graffiti, "that kind of graffiti could start a gang war . . ."

"Unless it wasn't from a rival gang . . ." she mumbled picking up the can with gloved hands, "this is the same shade of blue as the graffiti. Odds are the vandal left some fingerprints behind for us."

"We should examine it," he decided.

Abbie nodded and got her powder and tape out. She dusted the common areas people would touch and managed to get a whole fingerprint off the can.

"And voila!" she said, "one fingerprint, hot off the presses!"

"Were lucky the vandal left us a whole fingerprint," Ramirez said, "do you think Alex will let me analyses it?"

She giggled, "maybe, but first, we need to see what Salvador wants in the mini-market."

"I'm betting its not chocolate."

Abbie laughed at the joke as they crossed the street to the mini-market. Jones was at the door way with Salvador next to him.

"What the fuck are you doing here?!" Jones barked.

"Hey, chill out!" Salvador said defensibly, "I did nothing wrong . . ."

"Oh yeah, sure!" he said looking over at Abbie and Ramirez, "we've been called 'cause guy was doing nothing wrong near the mini-market. Happens all the time! Just tell us why you're trying to break into the mini-market. You forgot to get your tampons for that time of the month?""

"Whatever man, I'm outta here!" he snorted walking off.

"Abbie, I'm sure Cordero was looking for something in here," Jones said once the gang leader turned the block, "maybe Stern had something on him?"

"Like what?" she asked.

"Something we overlooked during our investigation . . ." he pondered, "we'd better search the place once more, just to be sure."

He and Abbie went inside while Ramirez stayed on the curb. They double check the area they had already searched and looked around where they had yet to. Abbie raised her head and looked along the tops of shelves and saw a briefcase resting on top of the cooler.

"Give me a boost,"" she said pointing.

Jones kneeled down and cupped his hands together. She placed her foot in the hold and grabbed his shoulder to steady herself as he lifted her into the air. She reached out her free hand for the briefcase and grabbed its handle. Jones lowered her back down to the ground and she dropped the case on the counter.

"Nice catch, Abbie," he said, "we'd never have found this briefcase if it weren't for your keen eyes."

"You might have," she replied, "after a few hours searching."

He tried to open it, "dammit, it's code locked. Can you give it a try?"

"I can," she nodded looking at the lock. It was a spinning lock with three cylinders of numbers and letters. She spun the around one at a time and the lock clicked open when she put in the right one. She lifted the lid and found only a single CCTV tape sitting in the briefcase.

"Another CCTV tape," Abbie informed taking it.

"I wonder why Stern would hide this one," Jones wondered.

"Only one way to find out, let's send it to Alex," she said.

"I'm really eager to know what has been recorder on it," he said fallowing her out of the shop.

"Is there anything else you need me to do?" Ramirez asked once they joined him.

"Can you bring this to Alex along with the fingerprints?" Abbie asked. Holding out the tape.

He took it, "no problem, I'll call you when the results are finished."

"Merci," she smiled.

Ramirez got in his car and drove to the station, Jones got in his own and headed over to Rose's apartment with Abbie trailing behind on her bike with Hunter.

...............................................................................................................................

They knocked on the door to Rose's studio apartment and the young woman answered it immediately.

"Hello Mr. Cassidy," Jones said with sympathy, "Detective Abbie and I just wanted to check on you, you know, to see how you're doing . . ."

"How am I doing?!" Rose exclaimed in a rage, "I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown, that's how I am doing!"

"It's ok Mr. Cassidy, try to calm down and tell us what happened," he pleaded.

"My scumbag brother happened!" she cried, "he decided to get rid of all of Chad's stuff, along with a poem he wrote! I can't find it!"

"A . . . poem?"

"Yes . . ." she breath, "the last poem Chad ever wrote me, before he died . . . he had such a talent! I must get it back."

"Ok, why don't you got get some coffee and take a break while I search the apartment for it?" Abbie suggested.

Rose whipped her eyes, "yeah . . . yeah, that sounds good. Thank you officers for taking the time to help me."

"It's our pleasure rose," she smiled.

The Hispanic woman gather her bag and keys and left the two detectives alone in the studio. Jones and Abbie didn't bother with searching the drawers for them poem and when straight to the trash bag next to the door.

"This bag is full of Chad's clothes," Jones reported untying the knot, "maybe Troy stuffed the poem in here in his hast."

"Let's find this poem," Abbie said. they pulled out the articles of clothing, checking the pants pockets for anything. Abbie reached her hand it and felt around the bottom for the poem and felt some scraps of paper. She pulled them out and made sure she had them all.

"Nice catch Abbie, looks like Troy didn't appreciate Chad's prose . . ." Jones muttered, "the peon has been torn apart!"

"Thanks captain obvious," she snickered, "give me a minute to tape it up."

She attacked the pieces of tape to the back of the paper so it wouldn't be seen as much. She handed it to Jones once she was done to look over.

"It's still a bit crumpled but it will do, let's read this "lovebird's" poetry . . ." he said clearing his throat, "Skulls are red, Vipers are blue, gang was suck, but I love you so much" . . . what. The. Hell is that?!"

"What were you expecting? Robert Frost or something?"

"Well, I guess you're right . . . I shouldn't have expected much, since literature isn't the first thing you learn when you enter a gang . . ." he said looking at the door, "anyhow, I hear Rose coming back. I hope this will at least comfort her."

The door knob turned and Rose stepped inside, "did you find my poem?"

"Here you are," Abbie said taking it form Jones to give her.

"Thank you so much, both of you," she thanked admiring the words, "have you read it? Isn't it lovely?"

"Uh . . . yes, it is," Jones coughed, "probably? I not much of a poetry guy, you know . . ."

"But I'm sure Chad wrote it for you with all his love," Abbie smiled, "take care Rose."

"Goodbye officers," Rose said seeing them out.

They left Whisp Lane and drove to the police station to see what Alex had found out for them with the fingerprint and CCTV tape. They road the elevator to h op floor and entered the tech lab to find Alex and Ramirez waiting for them.

"I've compared the fingerprint off that paint can with our database," Alex said pulling up a file on his monitor, "and I've got a match: Big Baby."

"What? But . . ." Ramirez looked flabbergasted, "that doesn't make any sense! Why would he tag a taunt against his own gang? Are you sure Alex?"

"Yes Ramirez," he nodded positively, "I'm 100% positive. Big Baby painted the graffiti."

"What about the tape we sent you?" Jones asked.

"At first I didn't see anything interesting in the video. But then I noticed that the CCTV camera was aimed at the mini-market mirror," he explained, "it took me a long time, but I've been able to get a pretty good shot at what was happening outside the mini-market: a meeting between Cordero and Marconi."

"Oh, come on, you can't be serious?!" he gapped, "you got that form a mirror?!"

"Sure did!" Alex grinned proudly pulling up the image, "take a look for yourself! You can clearly see both of them in a hot argument. Cordero even spat at Marconi's feet!"

"That's what Cordero was looking for," Abbie nodded.

"I want to know what it's all about," Jones said, "let's find him."

"Shouldn't be too hard," she said leading her partner and Ramirez out, "he's probably back at the mini-market by now."

"Can we handle Big Baby first?" Ramirez asked, "I don't want him and Troy going at it again."

"Sure Ramirez," Jones said, "I'll meet you at the mini-market, Abbie."

"Will do," she replied hopping on her bike.

.............................................................................................................................

 

"You're busted Big Baby!" Ramirez declared walking up to the Viper, "but why the heck would you mock your own gang, I don't get it . . ."

"Cordero needs a reason to go to war with these damn Skulls," Big Baby answered jerking a thumb at Troy, "and since they didn't kill Chad, I'd figured I give it a little push . . ."

"Well, Detective Abbie is gonna have to give you a "little" fine!" he beamed as Abbie wrote out the ticket and gave it to the Viper.

"Man, your stupid as fuck!" Troy laughed, "next time, leave the business to the big boys!"

"Now break it up you two," Abbie ordered.

They did as they were told and left in separated directions. Abbie said goodbye to Ramirez and crossed the road to where Jones was waiting near Salvador.

"Here you are!" Jones said holding up the tape, "we found what you were looking for in the mini-market!"

"Good for both of you," Salvador said broadly, "but if you had anything, I'd already be wearing those shiny bracelets of yours . . ."

"Oh yeah?" he glared, "guess what: your argument with Marconi has been recorded, and we wanna know what it was about!"

"That's it? You two are probably the last to know then . . ." he smirked, "this crazy Italian wants the whole district for himself. He came to have a "business talk."

"Then what?" Abbie asked.

"What do you think? I told him to get the fuck out of my face!" Salvador laughed, "see ya, officers."

He left the two by climbing into a waiting car and speeding off down the street.

"The situation between the Italian mafia and Vipers is worse then we thought, Abbie," Jones shook his head, "I wouldn't be surprised if something serious happened very soon . . . we'd better be ready for it!"

"Aren't we always?" Abbie grinned.


	13. Under The Knife

_~ RING! RING! ~_

"Huh . . ." Abbie groaned cricking an eye open, "wha-?"

_~ RING! RING! ~_

She slapped around on her nightstand, briefly noting that her clock read 1:23am, for her cellphone. She found it after a few seconds of blind searching and answered it.

"Murphy," she answered voice thick with sleep.

"Abbie," it was Jones voice on the other hand, "we have another dead body on out hands."

"Where?" she asked throwing her sheets off and getting up.

"He was found in the backstreets of Caribou Corner," he replied, "they're waiting for us. Can you get her in twenty minutes?"

"I can be there in fifteen," she said finding her shoes. Luckily, she had been to tired the night before to change out of the clothes she was wearing so all she had to do was grab her bag, gun and badge. She whistled for Hunter to come and hurried out of the house. She hopped on her bike and reversed out of her driveway onto the road.

She turned onto Caribou Corner and slowed down as she neared the alley where Jones car and Nathan's van were blocking off. She parked in-between them and left her helmet on the seat.

"What do we got?" she asked the two men.

"A man was found dead by on officer," Jones answered looking up, "nice scarf."

"Thank you," said smiled adjusting the deep purple fabric, "have you found anything?"

"Other then a dead body?" Nathan looked over, "no."

"Can you tell how he died?"

"Well," he said looking the body over, "he has bruising, so he got into a fight before he died. But I won't know the full extent until after the autopsy."

"Better have a look around," Jones said standing guard.

Abbie nodded and got to work. She checked near the body and found a passport registered to an Alan Cardwell, with their victim's picture on it. She also found a wallet with the victim's driver's license in the clear pocket.

"Our victim's name is Alan Cardwell," Abbie read off, "we better send the passport to the lab, see what Alex can dig up."

"And while we wait for the autopsy results," Jones said grabbing the wallet, "what do you say we have a look at this wallet?"

"First," Nathan said, "open my van please."

Jones popped open the back doors to the ME's van and Nathan rolled the gurney with the body bag inside. They shut the doors and he drove off with their victim and passport.

Once he was out of sight, Abbie looked through Alan's wallet for anything that could tell them about his life. Some credit cards, loose change and business cards were inside but one card stood out. It was for a local barbershop and was slightly crinkled from behind stuffed into the wallet.

"This may be that last place Alan went before his death," she said reading the address.

"We, we might as well go check it out," Jones said, "Kemp's Barbershop . . . ugh! That's where Bart used to hang out!"

She giggled, "don't want to pay him a visit?"

"Not on my life!" he said, "let's just go and hope he's still sleeping."

She laughed as she got on her bike and he in his car. They drove over to the barbershop but found it closed.

"Now what?" Abbie asked checking the hours, "it won't be open until 9:00!"

"When in doubt," Jones said checking the mailbox, "the key to success is right in front of you."

He lifted the mailbox off the hinges and ripped the typed key off the back. He held it up smugly and unlocked the door after putting the mailbox back.

"Isn't this breaking the law?" Abbie asked.

"It isn't if you are the law," he replied pushing the door open. She sighed but still fallowed him inside. The shop was spotlessly clean with everything in its place. Well . . . except for the knocked over trashcan in the middle of the shop. She bent down and picked up a schedule sheet dated the previous day.

"Hey look," she said skimming the names listed, "here at 2pm: Alan Cardwell."

"We'll have to ask the owner about this in the morning," Jones decided, "let's head back to the station."

"But nothing will be done," she said fallowing him out.

He locked the door and hide the key, "no, but it will give us time to catch up on sleep."

"Good point," she yawned.

This time Abbie led the drive back on her bike with Hunter in her bag. They parked side by side in the back lot and got out.

"I think I'll go see Nathan," she said heading to the stairwell.

"Alright," Jones replied going to the elevator, "I'll type up what we have so far."

They split up in different directions. Abbie walked down the flights of stairs to the underground basement and entered the dimly lit hallway. The doors to the morgue slid open for her and Nathan looked up form his work.

"What are you doing here?" he asked from behind his face shield.

She shrugged, "I came to keep you company."

"I guessed it was a good thing that I decided to wait," he muttered grabbing a saw, "you sure you want to be here?"

"Nothing new for me," she replied hopping on the third spare table, "you don't use this one, do you?"

He shook his head, "no, only this one and something the middle one, but never the third. I hope to never need to use all three at once."

"Me too," she said setting Hunter next to her. The puppy immediately curled up and fell asleep, "I could do the same thing girl."

"What?" Nathan asked glancing up form his first cut.

"Wrong girl," she teased playfully, "I meant Hunter. She fell right to sleep when I put her down."

"Oh, you can go to sleep you know. I won't care."

"I can stay up a little longer," she waved him off, "so, how's life?"

He laughed, "strange words to here in a morgue. But its good, Avi keeps asking when we'll go get his school supplies."

"I take it he's excited?"

"Like Jones with a cookie," he quipped.

"He's really lucky to have a mother like you," Abbie smiled sincerely.

He bit his lip, "others would disagree . . . but, I try."

"Well the others can buzz off," she replied, "no matter what, Avi has a great mother and awesome aunts and uncles to boot."

"That he does . . ." he smiled shutting the saw off, "go to sleep, Abbie. This body and I aren't going anywhere."

"I'm not even gonna argue this time," she said laying down on the stainless-steel slab, "wake me in the morning."

She closed here eyes and drifted off to sleep. Nathan smiled lightly and walked over to the light switches. He used his shoulder to flick the main ones off and turned the one for the dome light above his work space on. 

**The next morning . . .**

_POKE_  "Auntie Abbie."  _POKE_  "Auuuntie Aaaabbie." _POKE_  "Auntie Abbie!"

A sharp jab hit Abbie in her stomach and she snapped her eyes open. She lifted her head off the pillow and found Avi watching her from the ground. His face lit up when she locked eyes with him.

"Auntie Abbie!" he cheered, "oh, shhhh! Mommy's still sleeping!"

Abbie looked passed the kid and saw Nathan curled up on the table across from her. His lab coat had been draped across his body like a blanket and his eyes were closed. She sat up straight and stretched her muscles while something slid off her shoulders. She looked down at her lap and saw it was a dark blue suit jacket that she knew didn't belong to her. She shrugged off the concern and neatly folded it beside her. She reached down and lifted Avi up onto the table with her.

"And how are you this morning?" she asked. Avi had definitely just gotten up because he still had on his dinosaur pajamas.

"Good!" he chirped, "grandpa Sammy brought me with him to work today!"

"Grandpa Sammy? You mean Chef King?"

He nodded rapidly, "he told me to get you up, and I did! He said he was going to get the rest of the family."

"Okay," she nodded scratching Hunter behind the ear, "I hear your excited for school."

"Yeah! Mommy says we'll go get my stuff soon."

"That'll be fun," she said as the morgue doors slid open. Chief King walked in fallowed by Jones with trays of coffee, Alex, Grace, and Ramirez who was carrying a larger sized box.

"Morning, partner," Jones said handing her the first mug.

"Bon matin," she replied taking sip.

Ramirez placed the box on Nathan's desk ad pulled out containers of what she assumed to be breakfast. She hopped off the table taking Avi with her and climbed onto the end of Nathan's setting her nephew on her lap. Alex took the spot she had just vacated while King pulled the desk chair over and Grace did the same with one of the spare chairs. Ramirez handed out the food while Jones handled the coffee. Once they were done, Ramirez took the last chair and closed off their circle and Jones took a seat next to Alex.

"Where did you get the food?" Abbie asked opening her container. She felt her mouth water as she saw pancakes, hash browns and a cup of fruit, "there's no pork in here, is there?"

"My wife made it, and she doesn't send meat with them, Nathan is a, what is it again? Lactovegetarian? Yeah, that's it," Ramirez explained, "sorry about that."

She shook her head, "don't be, I can't eat it. That's why I asked."

"Are you allergic?" Grace asked.

"No, religious," she replied taking a bit of her pancakes.

"Religious?" King repeated.

Abbie swallowed, "I'm Muslim. By the way, where's your jacket Chief?"

"Right here," he said grabbing the coat she had been using as a blanket and slipping it on.

"He treats us as his children," Alex explained, "makes sure we're comfortable before leaving on nightshifts. And I didn't know you we're Muslim."

Abbie shrugged, "not a fact I advertise. Nathan get your foot out of my thigh."

Nathan grumbled, "then don't put your thigh where my foot is."

"Hi mommy!" Avi waved despite the ME's eyes still being closed, "what does Muslim mean?"

"It's a form of religion, you can learn more about it later, kaddoo" he answered.

"Here's your coffee, Nate," Jones said placing the mug next to his head.

Nathan sat up letting his lab coat pool on the table. He took his mug and food container and Avi slid off Abbie's lap to sit between his mom and aunt. The group of investigators ate in silence for a while before getting to work.

"So, what do you have so far?" King asked.

Jones swallowed the last of his food, "our victim's name is Alan Cardwell."

"He was a plastic surgeon, no criminal record, and his address is 21, Alistair Street," Alex rattled off, "might be worth a shot going there to talk to his widow, Sarah Cardwell."

"That's good, Alex," Jones said, "what about you Nathan?"

"Your body was pretty talkative," he informed, "while bruises indicate that Alan died fighting, the cause of death however, is from a punctured liver. The instrument was sharp and long, that's all I can determine."

"Did you find anything else?" Grace asked.

"I extracted glass fragments from the cuts in his hands. I analyzed it and it turns out the glass is from a pair of glasses," he tapped his own red ones for emphasis, "they must have been broken during the fight between Alan and the killer. The reason I'm saying all this is because Alan doesn't wear glasses: it's your killer who wears them."

"How can we know they'll still be wearing some if they got broken?" Abbie asked.

"They definitely have another pair," he said, "it wasn't hard to determine that the prescription for the lenses is high on the chart. There almost as bad as me!"

"And you as blind as a bat!" Avi laughed. Nathan smirked and messed up his son's hair.

"Anything else?" King asked smiling at the sight.

"This is going to sound weird, but after the killer murdered Alan, they stuffed a ball of paper deep inside his throat," Nathan replied, "its on my desk."

"I got it," Abbie declared spinning around and jumping off the table. She walked over t the desk and grabbed the tray with the crimpled ball of paper. She returned to her seat and set the tray on her lap. She snapped on a pair of gloves before getting to work.

"So, Abbie," Grace said breaking the silence, "how come we didn't know you were Muslim?"

"Well . . . let me put it this way. The only Muslim in a public high school, on top of being home-schooled till then, doesn't make me that eager to tell people," she explained.

"Why?" Avi asked innocently.

"Well . . . let's just say, some kids didn't like me so much when I was in school," she explained carefully, "but, I do still fallow the beliefs and teachings, I'm just hesitant to wear my hijab."

"Why?" King asked, "I have no issues with someone practicing their religion here, nor how they dress regarding it."

"Well, that's on a count off the fact that my first training officer forbid me from wearing my hijab even if I wore it in a fitted style," Abbie frowned taping the picture together, "he said it would, "prevent me from getting the job done."

"Well, consider this a lift on that ban," he smirked, "dress how ever you like, Muslim or none."

"Thank you, Chief," she beamed, "and this paper was a picture of a woman."

She held it up for the others to get a look at and noticed a speck of bronze coloured residue on the edges. She scrapped a sample off and handed the petri dish over to Grace.

"That's the kind of woman men could kill for," Jones said examining the picture.

"There's also writing on the back," Nathan pointed it out.

"Your little hummingbird, Samantha Warner," Abbie read off.

"Abbie, let's see if we can make this birdy sing for us," Jones proclaimed getting off the table, "tell Val that her breakfast is as great as ever."

"Will do," Ramirez gave him a thumb up, "oh, and Joshua Kempe's from Kempe's Barbershop is here, something about a break in?"

He laughed awkwardly, "he, he, better go see what that's all about."

"Wait for me, mister "Law," Abbie teased hurrying to keep up.

They found Joshua Kempe waiting in their office in one of the plastic chairs near the elevator. The man had on a very sharp suit with a combo and shaving brush sticking out of a pocket.

"Ah, there you are," he stood up as the officers neared him, "I am here to report a break in at my shop last night around-"

"2:30am?" Jones finished, "yeah, sorry about that, it was us."

"What the hell were you doing there?" Kempe demanded, "how dare you search my shop without my permission!"

"Chill out, Kempe," Jones glared, "we found your card on dead man's body. Did you know Alan Cardwell?"

"He's one of my best costumers, yes! Why, I just saw him yesterday!"

"We already guessed that," he ground out, "do you have anything remotely helpful to tell us?"

"Well . . ." Kempe didn't seem to have to think that hard, "he did have a pretty heated argument with our Golden Boy Curtis Newman yesterday. Maybe you should go talk to him."

"Thank you, Mr. Kempe," Abbie said, "and we wont break into your shop again, promise."

He humped, "I should hope so."

He walked briskly out of the office. Jones and Abbie waited a few moments before leaving themselves. They got into the squad car and drove over to Alan's home to speak with his wife.

They knocked on the front door and a middle-aged woman in a black business suit answered it.

"Sarah Cardwell?" Abbie asked.

"Yes, can I help you?" she asked.

"I'm Detective Abbie and this is my partner Detective Jones," she introduced, "I'm sorry to say that we found your husband murdered last night."

Sarah's hand flew to her mouth, "oh . . . Alan and I had been married for 15 years . . . he wasn't exactly a perfect husband, but still!"

"We're sorry for your loss," Jones said sympetaly, "do you know if your husband had any enemies?"

"As a matter of fact, . . ." the woman reached over and picked up a letter form the table by the door, "he got this letter just yesterday, but he refused to take it seriously! Here, take it."

She shoved the letter into Abbie's hands, "if that's all, I'd like to be alone now."

"Of course Ma'am," Abbie replied. Sarah closed the door and the detective walked back to their car.

Jones took the letter, "the killer actually warned Alan about his demise! "I warned you to stop seeing her. You didn't listen. Tomorrow you die."

"Let me have a look," Abbie said, "the killer might have left us a souvenir."

She used the car hood as a work space and flattened out the letter. She saw that there was a dark brown stain under the letters in some spots, so she took a sample of the substance for Grace to analyze.

"Let's drop this off on the way to Samantha," she suggested bagging the letter and sample.

"Alright," Jones said climbing into the car.

After dropping the evidence off at the station, they drove over to a place called The Piano Lounge, the place where Samantha Warner worked as a singer. They found her practicing on stage and waved her over.

"Yes?" she asked, "please make this quick, we have a show in an hour and I need my practice."

"We're investigating the death of Alan Cardwell," Jones said, "did you know him?"

"Of course, I knew Alan!" Samantha exclaimed but wouldn't make eye contact, "he was my surgeon. I can't believe he's dead!"

"We found this picture in his throat," he explained as Abbie held up the picture, "the killer obviously had a message to give, and it concerned you!"

"Are you telling me Alan was killed because of me?" she asked shocked, "I can't imagine anyone wanting to do that! But I promise to think about it, officers . . ."

"Thank you, Samantha," Abbie said putting the picture back in her bag. The singer walked back into the stag and her music started up again.

Jones leaned down to whisper in her ear, "I don't intend to just stick around until she thinks about it."

"Me neither," she agreed, "let's go see Curtis."

They snuck out of the club and drove over to another night club that Curtis was know to be at. When they got inside it wasn't hard to guess which one was their suspect. The cast on his left hand gave it away.

"Curtis Newman," Jones called flashing his badge, "we have to ask you some questions regarding the murder of Alan Cardwell."

"Fuck, Cardwell's dead?" Curtis asked.

"Yes," he confirmed, "and your barber saw you arguing with him yesterday. But judging by the bandages on your hand, it seems you had a full-blown fight."

"I was angry and hit a wall instead of his face . . . it helps me avoid lawsuits that way," he said smugly, "but it wasn't the best of moves. I've broken my left hand, and since I'm left-handed, I won't be able to play in next week's golf tournament."

"How terrible," Jones muttered, "that's all for now, but we will be back."

They walked out of the club out into the hot summer morning.

"A golf match, how fancy of him," Jones scoffed, "better write it down."

"Alright," Abbie agreed.

They went back to the station to see what Grace had discovered about the sample they had given her.

"The substance you found on the photo is a match with polishing paste," Grace explained referring to the bronze substance, "and this particular type of paste is commonly used for the polishing of golf clubs."

"You don't say," Abbie laughed, "looks like you were right to make note of Curtis's hobby."

"So, our killer plays golf," Jones smirked smugly, "how posh."

"What about the sample off the letter?" Abbie asked.

"Your molecules are form ordinary coffee. Nothing thrilling, except the letters were glued on top of the stains," Grace grinned.

"Which means our killer has a taste for coffee," Jones declared, "thanks, Grace."

"Your welcome," she replied as they left her lab.

As they walked down the alleyway going over what they had learned so far, Jones thought about where to go from there.

"We need new leads," he decided, "what do you say we have another look at that barbershop, or maybe the alley?"

"Or how about both?" Abbie suggested, "there could be clues at either."

"Good point," he nodded.

They left the station and went to research their crime scene for anything that they had missed during the night. They checked the garbage bin and saw a sharp pointed object covered in blood sticking into one of the black bags. Abbie put on a pair of gloves before she removed it and bagged it.

"I have no idea what this is, but there's blood on it!" Jones cheered, "let's get it to the lab."

They retraced their steps to drop it off before they payed a visit to Kempe's Barbershop. After talking to Kempe and apologizing once again for breaking in, he allowed them to search his shop. Abbie check in and around the chairs and vanities and found a brown briefcase wedged in-between to of the counters. She flipped it open and saw hat their victim's name was imbordered on the inside.

"This is Alan's briefcase," Abbie told Jones.

Jones turned to the barber, "why did you keep it, Mr. Kempe?"

"You've got some nerve!" Kempe fumed, "people forget things here all the time! I had no idea it was there!"

"Well, we'll be taking it off your hands now," Abbie said looking through it. She and Jones left the barbershop and she pulled out a life insurance pamphlet form the bag.

"Well done, Abbie," Jones said seeing the pamphlet, "it's kind of ironic that Alan had a life insurance policy pamphlet in his bag."

"It could have been a motive for murder to," she suggested.

"Your right," he smiled, "we should find out who the beneficiary might have been."

"You mean we should get Alex to find out who the beneficiary is?"

Jones just chuckled innocently.

_Two lab analyses later . . ._

Once the tech expert and Head ME were done with their testing, both come into the two detectives' office with their results.

"Good find, guys, the blood on that tip turned out to be Alan's," Nathan praised going first, "also, I don't know if you noticed the symbol on the tip: I.N.R.I but there from a well-known Christian acronym. I suggest you go check out the nearest church, and carefully inspect the religious artifacts."

"Will do," Abbie answered," what about you Alex?"

"Alan took out an insurance policy right before his death," the techie informed, "for a total of half a million dollars."

"That's a nice egg!" Jones said with eyes the size of dinner plates, "and who's the beneficiary?"

"His wife, duh!"

"Abbie," Ramirez said putting his phone down, "Samantha Warner just called. She said the only person she could see killing because of her is a man named Paul Oaster."

"Perfect," Abbie wrote the information down," Thanks Ramirez."

"No problem," he replied turning back to his computer.

"Well," Jones stood up, "looks like we're going to church."

"Not something I thought I would do," Abbie commented fallowing him out.

They drove over to the local church which they found to be right across from their crime scene. They talked to the priest and after explaining the situation, we're allowed to search the building. As she walked inside, Abbie wrapped her black cap around her head before she did the same with her purple hijab.

"Huh, I wondered how those were wrapped," Jones admitted.

"This is just a modern way of wearing it," Abbie clarified, "there are many different ways to wear it besides this one."

He nodded, "good to know."

They entered the church and looked around at the space. The sun shined in through the stain glass windows creating a multitude of colours on the stone floors. Abbie walked up to the alter and saw that one of the candlesticks along the sides was broken. She picked it up and saw that the tip was missing and the upper half hand blood on it.

"Look what I have!" she motioned for her partner.

He came over, "great find, Abbie! Not only is this candlestick bloodstained, but its tip is broken off. Let's get it straight to the lab."

"Oui!"

They dropped the candle stick off with Nathan on their way to talk to Sarah Cardwell. They knocked of the front door and she answered it shortly.

"Yes?" Sarah asked.

"Were you aware that your husband had recently taken out a life insurance policy?" Abbie questioned.

"I just knew you'd bring that life insurance up!" she huffed.

"We're just doing our job," Jones countered, "and you have to admit it's a pretty damming coincidence, your husband setting this up just before he got murdered."

Sarah grinned her teeth, "if I'd wanted to get my husband's money, I'd have filed a divorce on grounds of adulatory!"

She proceeded to slammed the door in their face. The two detectives walked down the pathway back to their car.

"Well, she's got a point . . ." Jones agreed, "let's head back to the station, Ramirez texted me saying he got Paul Oaster to come in."

"He's really saving time now," Abbie said surprised.

"I know," he said starting the car, "let's hope he will clean his desk, it would save even more time!"

She laughed at the joke as he pulled out onto the road. They got back to the station, after making a quick lunch stop, and found a man dressed in golfing clothes waiting for them in their office.

"You've got to excuse me if I come across as nervous, Detective Abbie," Paul fidgeted with a medal around his neck, "it's because I drank to much coffee . . ."

"Well, here's another reason to be nervous: Samantha Warner believes you may have killed Alan because you were jealous of him!" Jones accused.

"Wait, just wait a second!" he commanded, "now this woman . . . you've got to understand. She's got under my skin. I love her, so so much but I'd never kill for her."

"Any reason we should believe her?" Abbie challenged.

"I wouldn't trust a word she says about me," Paul snorted, "ever since I caught her and Alan having sex, she hates my guts!"

"Thanks for the info, Paul," she said, "that'll be all for now."

The man left the office and Abbie added him to their suspect line up, adding with it that he drinks coffee.

"I guess Alan wasn't just her surgeon . . ." Jones smirked, "let's go see what Samantha has to say about this."

He turned to walk into the elevator and nearly knocked Nathan, who was coming out, over. The detective managed to grab the younger man before he could hit the ground.

"Sorry," Jones flushed, "guess I gotta look where I'm going."

"Yes," Nathan nodded, "yes you do."

"Did you find anything with the candlestick?" Abbie asked joining the two.

"The tip you found and that candle stick are a perfect match. Not to mention this makeshift weapon's imprints fit the wounds on Alan's body," he reported, "there can be no doubt left: you've got your murder weapon."

"This sounds like a game of Clue," she commented.

Nathan laughed, "not a game we should play, it never ends well."

"That's because we get all technical," Jones chimed in, "now, let's go pay our singer a visit."

They left the station and drove over to The Piano Lounge to talk to Samantha. She had just finished up a rehearsal when they got inside and walked over to greet them.

"You didn't tell us that you and Alan were dating," Abbie said duly.

"Of course, I was dating Alan! He was a great womanizer, and I have a weak spot for strong, confident men . . ." Samantha breathed eyeing Jones, "men like you, in short."

"Hehehe, thank you for the complement," Jones grinned, Abbie elbowed him in the side, "but don't think I don't see through your tactics!"

"Ha, you sound just like Curtis. Always trying to get the upper hand," she giggled.

"Curtis? As in Curtis Newman? Your seeing him to?"

"If I'm seeing him!" Samantha said haughtily, "why, Curtis is my most devoted lover!"

"Good to know," Abbie said ending the conversation, "that's all we needed Samantha."

They left the singer to her work and walked out of the lounge to their car.

"It all fits!" Jones exclaimed as they got in, "that's why Curtis fought with Alan at the barber's. They must have been arguing about Samantha."

"Want to go talk to him?" Abbie asked starting the car.

"Sure, but can we stop for coffee on the way?"

"Sure."

After swinging by a local coffee shop and getting two cups to go, they went back to the club Curtis was hanging out at to talk to him. They found him sitting at the bar talking to the bartender.

"Sure, I'd love a cup of coffee," he told the woman who left to get him some.

"Curtis," Abbie cut in, "do you know a Samantha Warner?"

"I can't help you, sorry. I don't know a Samantha Warner," Curtis smiled devilishly.

"Oh, cut the crap, will you? Samantha told us firsthand that you were her lover!" Jones thundered.

"Look, have you seen Samantha?" he gawked, "she's the kind of woman people kill for!"

"Interesting choice of words," Abbie pointed out.

Curtis tugged on his collar, "I think that's exactly what happened to Alan, and I'd rather it did not happen to me! The fewer people know about me and Sam, the better."

He turned away form the two detectives as the bartender brought over his coffee. Jones and Abbie quietly left the club to regroup and go over what they knew.

"Did you see how scared Curtis was about us knowing about him and Samantha?" Abbie asked.

"Well, I can't blame him!" Jones replied, "knowing Samantha seems dangerous these days. But he fits our profile so far, what with the golfing, and the coffee . . ."

"Well, what are we going to do now?"

"Maybe we should go back to the church?" he proposed.

The radio crackled and Ramirez's voice came through, "Guys! One of our snitches reported having seen Joshua Kempe loitering near the church on the night of the crime."

"Joshua Kempe? What the . . .?"

"We better talk to him after searching the church," Abbie said, "thanks for the info Ramirez. Can you call Kempe to the station for us?"

"Your welcome, and I'll do that right now," he answered hanging up.

"Now, let's see what we can find," Jones said as his partner started the car.

They drove to the church where they had gotten the murder weapon from and checked up around the alter for anything of interest. Abbie raised her head and saw that there was a surveillance camera mounted to one of the columns near the ceiling.

"Look up there," she pointed.

"I didn't know churches used surveillance cameras," Jones remarked, "good intuition, Abbs."

They barrowed a ladder and screwdriver from the church supply closet and Jones climbed up it and unscrewed the camera from his base. He climbed down and gave it to Abbie to hold while he returned the tools. They drove back to the station and dropped the surveillance camera off with Alex before going o their interrogation room to talk with the barber.

"We got a tip that you were loitering around the church last night," Abbie told the man.

"What do you mean, I was "loitering" near the church! Am I loitering right now? Just to make sure!" Kempe demanded, "I did walk past the church yesterday evening. I was on my way to Miss Warner's. she lives across from it."

"Oh god, don't tell me you're also seeing her?" Jones asked startled.

"What do you mean "seeing" her?" he asked puzzled, "Miss Warner is an excellent customer, and as such, she gets the privilege of house calls."

"Oh," he sighed," thanks for clearing that up, Joshua. Care for a cup of coffee before you leave?"

"Finally, some respect," he smiled, "I will gladly have a cup of coffee, thank you."

Abbie made the barber a fresh mug of coffee from her own supply, she hated the brand they had at the station and had deemed it unfit for human consumption. As a Canadian-Turk who grew up on the stuff, she knew what true coffee tasted like. After escorting Kempe out of the station, she came back to the office.

"Ramirez will hear from me!" Jones swore, "I can't believe he never told us Samantha lived right next to the church!"

"He probably didn't see it as relevant," Abbie shrugged, "do you want to talk to Samantha about it?"

"Yes," he nodded, "but this time, she's coming to us."

They called the singer in to the station for questioning. They got her in their interrogation room and informed her about Alan being murdered at the church across from her house.

"I can't believe Alan was murdered in that church!" Samantha gasped.

"We're thinking his killer might have stopped by your place, either before or after the murder," Jones told, "did you see anyone that night?"

"I was with Curtis," she explained, "but we weren't at my place. We spent the night at the golf club . . ."

"So, no one else?" Abbie prompted.

She shook her head, "nope, just me and him. Is that all you wanted to know?"

"Yes," she answered, "you can go."

Samantha pushed her chair back and left the room.

"Seriously, is there something in the water?" Jones asked confused, "does everyone in this city play golf?! Maybe we should get a membership . . ."

"And hang out with more possible killers?" Abbie raised an eyebrow, "no thank you."

He paled, "good point. Let's go see what Alex found for us."

They walked down the hall to the tech lab where Alex and Avi, who had changed out of his pajamas, were playing a game of Rayman: Origins on Alex's Xbox 360. Both were so engrossed in the game that it took Jones five tries to get their attention.

"Oh, sorry guys," Alex said pausing the game.

Avi groaned, "aw!"

"We'll continue later," he promised," you guys want the results from that camera?"

"If you have them," Abbie replied.

"The camera's view was limited, but I still found out a few interesting things," Alex lectured, "Alan entered the church at 9pm. 5 minutes later, he starts arguing with someone standing off-camera. Things get heated, and Alan gets stabbed with the dandle stick. A man then kneels down next to him and pushes something in his mouth. The video's too grainy to make out his face, but I'm sure of two things: your killer is a man and, judging by the hand with which he struck, he's right-handed."

"Abbie, Curtis already told us he's left handed," Jones remembered, "guess that rules him out . . ."

"Well, that only leaves Kempe and Paul," she said, "and I don't see any motive for Kempe."

"What do you say we go ask what our scorned lover was doing on the night of the murder?"

"I'll go call him in."

They left Alex and Avi to their game as they went to call their suspect in. they sat Paul in the interrogation room at the table, and sat down across form him.

"What were you doing the night of the murder?" Abbie asked.

"What was I doing on the night of the murder? I was coming back form a golf tournament," Paul said showing his medal, "see, I even won this pendant for best right-handed swing that day. And what a day it was!"

"Yes, it was quite eventful," Jones said suspicious.

"But, er, of course . . . its terribly sad Alan happened to die that day too . . ." he stammered.

"And that's all we needed to hear," he smirked, "would you do the honors, partner?"

Abbie smiled, "with pleasure, Paul Oaster, you're under arrest for the murder of Alan Cardwell."

"Based on what, exactly?" Paul asked smugly, "you've got nothing against me!"

"I bet you wont look so smug when we show the court the fingerprints we found on the murder weapon," Jones lied.

"You lie!" he accused, "there weren't any fingerprints on that candlestick!"

"You see, that's funny," Abbie smirked wickedly, "I never said the murder weapon was a candlestick, did you Jones?"

"Nope!" he popped the 'p', "so how did you know? Nobody but us knew that fact."

Paul's mouth dropped open, ". . ."

"You have the right to remain silent," ones informed as Abbie snapped the cuffs on his writs, "anything you say can and will be used against you in a Court of Law . . ."

_To the Court House . . .!_

"Paul Oaster," Judge Hall projected her voice across the Court room," you have admitted to killing Alan Cardwell?"

"Yes, I killed him!" Paul said firmly, and I would kill him again, that sex-crazed, capitalist pig, who doesn't care about inequalities as long as he can have some fun!"

Sarah Cardwell sucked in a deep breath as she listened to this man insult her husband. She may have been aware of Alan's cheating, but deep down, a part of her still loved the man who always came back to her.

"And I chose that filthy church to do it because it represents all the hypocrisy of this promiscuous society!" he spat.

"Your reasons do not interest this Court. You repeatedly threatened the victim and clearly premeditated his murder," Judge Hall said tired of listening to the man, "what's more, the fact that you deliberately chose a place of worship to commit your crime is abhorrent!"

"Abhorrent! But I did it to protect Samantha!!" Paul protested, "don't you see? I love her! I did this for love!"

Samantha, who was sitting with Curtis, paled at knowing she was the reason Alan lost his life. She had never thought tat someone would become so obsessed with her that they would resort to killing others just to "protect" her.

"Silence!" Judge Hall ordered, "this Court hereby sentences you to life in jail. May this time help you to reflect on the true value of this love you speak of!"

She ordered the guards to escort the prisoner out of the Courtroom before she dismissed the rest of the crowds. Abbie felt her cellphone vibrate from inside her pocket and pulled it out to answer.

"Murphy," she answered.

"Abbie," it was Chief King on the other end, "I'd like you to go check up on Mrs. Cardwell and Miss Warner. The sudden death of a loved one, it's bound to be emotionally devastating."

"Are you alright, sir?" she asked hearing the slight high in his words.

"I'm fine," he assured, "moreover, I've just received a call from Ramirez who's gotten himself tangled up in a row at Mr. Kempe's barbershop. You better go give him a helping hand."

"Will do," she said before hanging up. She looked around the Courthouse for Jones but couldn't see him anywhere. She sent him a text about their orders and that she was going to find Sarah first. She hopped on her bike with Hunter in tow to see where to woman could be.

She checked the widow's home first but after knocking rapidly on the door and waiting for almost ten minutes, decided that she must not be back yet. She plopped down on the front step and felt her phone go off again.

"Murphy," she said answering it.

"Hey Abbie," Nathan said, "one of your suspects was just here."

"At the morgue?"

He hummed, "haan, she was looking for Alan's wedding ring, but I told her he wasn't wearing it when he came in."

"That must have been Sarah," she commented standing up, "did she say where she was going?"

"She begged me o tell her where he had been found, so I gave her the address," he answered, "she's probably there by now."

"Thanks Nathan," Abbie said hopping on her bike, "and if you see Jones, tell him to meet me there."

"No problem."

She hung up her phone and started her bike. When she got to the ally across from the church, she found Jones's car parked in front of in next to a blue echo. Her partner was leaning against the hood of his car waiting for her.

"Nathan hunted me down and told me to come," he informed as she got off her bike.

"That was fast," she said entering the alley.

The two detectives found Sarah searching the area where her husband had been found with a look of distraught on her face.

"Mrs. Cardwell, what are you doing here?" Jones asked knowing full well why the woman was there, "I don't think it's a good idea for you to visit the murder scene . . ."

"I'm looking for Alan's wedding ring," Sarah said softly, "I went to the morgue, but it wasn't on his finger . . . so I thought since this was where Alan's body was found, then his ring might be here to."

"Why don't you go home, Sarah?" Abbie suggested smiling lightly, "my partner and I will search this area for you. And don't worry, we'll find Alan's ring in no time."

"Oh . . ." she blinked, "if it's not too much trouble . . ."

"Never," Jones shook his head.

The widow left the scene of her husband's murder in her blue echo. The to detectives searched the area around where Alan's body had been found for the wedding ring. There was nothing on the ground so Abbie looked around and saw a shiny object on one of the dumpster's side bars. She picked it up to get a better look.

"Great work, Abbie, you found a ring," Jones praised seeing the gold band, "but is it the ring we're looking for?"

"There's something engraved on it . . ." Abbie said squinting to read the faded words.

"I'd hate to give Mrs. Cardwell any false hope," he sighed, "think you can decipher the writing?"

"Already done," she announced, "it's a date: 05/08/1982."

"And according to Alan's file . . ." Jones pulled up the information on his phone, "that's the date they got married. Abbs, your amazing! This proves it's Alan's wedding ring."

"Let's not keep Sarah waiting any longer," she said pocking the ring, "she's going to be so happy that we've found the ring for her."

"You mean that you found the ring for her," he smiled.

She laughed, "you were personal motivation, Jonesy."

Jones got into his car and Abbie and Hunter got on the woman's bike. They drove to the Cardwell home and rang the doorbell. Sarah answered it immediately.

"Well?" she asked breathy.

"Here you go," Abbie handed her the gold ring, "Alan's wedding ring."

"I can't believe it!" she gasped clenching the ring in her hands, "you found Alan's wedding ring! I can still remember the night he asked me to marry him . . . it was just so magical . . . with all that's happened, maybe it's not obvious to you but Alan and I did love each other. Deeply. Oh . . . if only you could have seen us back when we were young, you'd have seen how truly happy we were . . . and this ring is a nice reminder of that, so thank you!"

"Detective Abbie is the one to thank," Jones grinned slapping his partner's shoulder, "we wouldn't have found that ring without my partner!"

"Thank you from the bottom of my heart!" Sarah grinned walking to her kitchen, "an I refuse to let you leave on an empty stomach, so please, take this."

She returned with a plastic container of muffins. They thank her for her generosity and left the house. They decided to check in with Ramirez at Kempe's Barbershop to see what he had gotten himself into this time.

When the two got there, they found Joshua Kempe and Curtis Newman in a heated argument and Ramirez trying (and failing) to put a stop to them before a fight broke out.

"What the hell is going on here, Ramirez?" Jones asked pulling the officer to the side.

"Er, it's complicated . . ." Ramirez gulped, "Mr. Curtis is accusing Mr. Kempe of never cleaning his scissors and because of that, Mr. Curtis now has lice and-"

"Outrageous!" Kempe shouted, "I carefully clean my scissors after every client. If Curtis here has got lice, it's definitely not from me and my scissors . . ."

"Don't try that one on me, old man!" Curtis spat back, "lying comes to you as naturally as breathing! Now you better hope your bones are not as weak as your lies!"

"EVERYBODY CALM DOWN RIGHT ABOUT NOW!" Ramirez yelled with surprising force, both Curtis and Kempe fell silent, "er . . . I mean . . . I'm sorry . . . please, Detective Abbie, would you mind fixing this for me?"

"Well, Abbs," Jones turned to the Muslim woman, "let's help Ramirez out. We should search the place, see if we can find anything that could help settle this fight."

"I'm on it," Abbie saluted. Jones and Ramirez worked to get Curtis and Kempe to sit at opposite ends of the barbershop while she searched it. She saw that most of the combs and scissors that got used were soaking in jars of cleaning solution. She figured those would be stripped of anything usable so she turned to the floor. Behind one of the chairs was a pile of freshly cut hair that had been yet to be thrown out.

"I'm not touching that thing, not even with a ten-foot pole," Jones gagged seeing what she was doing, "if there's lice in there, they're all yours!"

"I don't get lice," she smirked pushing the hair away with gloved hands. Once she had cleared the spot of the chunks of hair, she found a sleek pair of scissors on the floor. Kempe must have dropped them and not heard them hit the floor. She bagged the tool and threw her gloves in the trash.

"To Grace!" she announced holding up the bag.

"You want to hand those scissors over to Grace?" Jones asked looking a little green, "you really think she's going to analyze them?"

"Oh, she will," Abbie said surly, "can you at least bring them to her?"

He sighed, "yes . . . meet you by the church to check up on Samantha?"

"Deal."

Are promising Ramirez they would be back as soon as they could, they left the barbershop, Jones to drop off the scissors and Abbie to the church.

When she got there, she saw no sign that Samantha was in her house but the door to the church was unlocked. Abbie waited until Jones got there before they went inside to look for the singer. When they entered the cathedral, they found a woman dressed in a nun's habit kneeling in front of the alter, she turned around when she heard them enter.

"Miss . . . Miss Warner?" Jones asked wide eyed, "is that really you?!"

"Don't be so surprised, Jones," Samantha said adjusting her glasses, "I feel terribly responsible for Alan's death and I'm tired of men going all crazy over me. It was time I changed my life style. I'm glad you're here: I want to pray for Alan but I've lost my rosary in the church. Without it, I'd have the feeling that my prayer wasn't being heard . . ."

"Don't worry Sister Warner," Jones assured, "with Abbie, it will only take a few minutes to find your rosary in here."

"Oh, thank you both," she smiled, "I just have to run out back to get more candles."

She exited the church through the back door leading to the back room. Jones and Abbie split up and searched either side of the church.

"I can't believe Miss Warner became a nun," Jones commented from his pews, "whoever said people never change was talking nonsense!"

"I hadn't realized she had been effected by Alan's death so much," Abbie said looking under a pew.

"And here I was thinking she didn't even care! I feel awful . . ." he muttered, "well, let's make it up to her by finding her rosary!"

They checked in the pews for the missing rosary and Abbie found pieces of wood tucked behind one of the book of hymns. She pulled them out and saw that one of the pieces had a wooden cross on it.

"I don't think this rosary is going to be of any use to her," Abbie cringed putting the pieces in the pew, "I pretty sure it needs to be in one piece."

"I know I ask a lot of you, but do you think you could fix it?" Jones putting on the puppy dog eyes, "pretty please . . .?"

She laughed, "I can try, but I warn you. I only know what these look like from pictures."

She got out her glue and spread the pieces out along the seat. It took a few times of trial and error to find the right pieces that went together, but once she had them, Abbie glued them together to for a simple wooden rosary.

"Amazing, Abbs, you've managed to fix Sister Warner's rosary!" Jones cheered, "you're as talented, as you are reliable!"

"Hopefully the glue won't make a difference in her prayer," Abbie said checking to make sure it was dry.

"I still can't believe how much Sister Warner has changed. I mean, she went from being a reckless femme fatale to nun: that's a whole new way of life!" he exclaimed, "let's go give this rosary back to Sister Warner so that she can pray for Cardwell's peace."

They walked up the center aisle to knock on the back door, but Samantha came out with a box of candles in her arms. she set them down by the door way and walked over to meet them.

"We found your rosary," Abbie said holding it out.

"Oh, how sweet of you," she laughed, "sadly, I don't have any time left to pray. I'm late for my date with Curtis and I still need to change out of this silly costume."

Jones gapped, "but-you-nun-huh?"

"Me? A nun? Ha ha no," Samantha waved him off, "I'm just preparing for a small movie role, but I'm flattered you believed it, Jones. See you soon, maybe!"

The two detectives watched flabbergasted as the actress strutted out of the church. They looked at each other with matching looks of shock and only snapped out of it when Hunter barked.

"Thanks, girl," Abbie said petting the small dog.

"Abbs, whoever said that people never change wasn't so stupid after all," Jones flushed, "I can't believe I fell for her act!"

"Guess you shouldn't have been a profiler," she teased.

"Won't argue there," he agreed, "let's go check in with Grace, with those muffins for protection."

They drove back to the station and entered the forensics lab.

"did you find anything form those scissors?" Abbie asked as Jones got a strawberry muffin out of the container.

"There's nothing on them apart form some faint traces of hand sanitizer," Grace answered handing them to her, "I don't get it: what exactly were you looking for?"

"Er . . . lice . . ." Jones sweated holding out the baked good, "muffin?"

"Now your telling me?!" she yelled, but still snatched the muffin out of his hand.

"Sorry, Grace," he said backing out of the room, "right, Abbie, we should probably hurry and settle the fight at Kempe's before things get ugly."

"Can I have a muffin?" Avi asked poking his head into the room.

Jones jumped, "I keep telling you to make more noise!"

He gave a toothy grin, "sorry Uncle David. But can I?"

"Sure buddy," he said reaching in and finding a blueberry one, "here you go."

"Yeah!" he cheered devouring it in a flash, "can I have another one?"

"No," Nathan frowned joining the group, "you still have to have supper."

"Aw!" Avi complained, "can I have one for dessert?"

"If David will give another one, yes," the Indian said.

"Nathan, that kid is going to suffer from childhood obesity," Grace glared hands on her hips.

"You know he has a severely high metabolism," he glared back, "he burns off the food as fast as he eats it!"

"Well he still doesn't need so much food, he's only five!"

"Hey, Avi," Jones crouched down to the kid's level and passed him the container, "why don't you go see if the others want some muffins?"

"Okay," Avi whispered back sneaking out of the room.

The detective straightened up, "let's get going, Abbie."

He ushered her out of the lab and they saw Nathan exiting it as the elevator doors slid closed behind them. As they road down the lift, Abbie turned to the older man.

"Are they always like that?" she asked concerned.

Jones sighed, "sadly, yes. Grace is convinced that Nathan isn't fit to parent Avi. He tries his hardest everyday to prove it to her, but she still thinks Avi would be better off in a foster home."

Abbie gasped, "how could she say that?! Nathan is doing his best, given the circumstances I think it's more then enough proof!"

"Well, Grace doesn't see it that way," he scratched his neck, "Avi . . . it's not just his ADHD, he was born with everything on overdrive. He naturally has a high metabolism that goes faster then he can eat. It's a challenge just to find foods he'll eat and that can sustain him."

"Really?" she inquired, "he does seem kinda small . . ."

He nodded, "Nathan has to give him these high calorie protein drinks everyday on top of the large amounts of food he already eats just to maintain a healthy weight."

"Wow . . ." she breathed as the left the station, "I didn't realize how serious it was . . ."

Jones climbed into the car, "most don't. I never talked to Nathan about it, but I'm scared for when Avi goes to school, at home he can just grab a snack out of the fridge or pantry. Now, he'll have set meal and snack time, and I don't know if he'll be able to last long."

"I'm sure it will all work out," Abbie reassured as she started the car, "we'll cross that bridge when we get there."

"Your right," he nodded, "but for now, we have a minefield to cross."

They drove back to the barbershop and found that Ramirez had managed to keep Curtis and Kempe from going at each other while they were gone. Abbie pulled the scissors out of her bag to give back to the barber.

"Mr. Kempe, it seems you were telling the truth," Abbie smiled returning the scissors, "the lab analysis only reviled traces of hand sanitizer. Your scissors are clean."

"I don't give a damn, I'm never stepping foot in to this shit hole again!" Curtis swore storming out of the shop.

"Who needs clients like you anyway? Good riddance I say!" Kempe called after him, "as for you, Detective Abbi, would you like a free hair cut? On the house. I'd love to try a new style on you."

"Thanks, but I don't think anyone will notice it," she laughed pretending to flick her hair.

"Well, if you ever decided you want a change, come see me," he said firmly.

"I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I wanted to add that from now on, Abbie will always be wearing her hijab unless I write otherwise.


	14. A New Best Friend

"Really, Grace," Abbie says as she put a fresh loaf of bread from the farmers market into her bag, "I only have a few more things to pick up, you didn't have to stay with me."

"Oh, but I wanted to get to know you, we spend such little time together at work," the red-head smiled, "and I just love coming to the farmers market in the summer, they have the best strawberries for sale."

"Do they sell blueberries?" she wondered, "or maybe some raspberries?"

"They have just about everything here," Grace explained directing her over to the fruit stands section, "take your pick."

Abbie looked through the boxes of different fruits displayed along the fronts. She decided on a box of blueberries, some raspberries and a small box of blackberries. She also picked up a lemon before paying for her purchases.

"Why do you need so much fruit?" Grace asked helping her to get them in the bag.

"I was think about making Avi some muffins," Abbie said, "he seems to really like them."

"If they were in season I'd tell you to make him pumpkin ones," she said as she bought herself a box of strawberries, "he will eat anything that is made with pumpkins or is pumpkin flavored, especially pumpkin spice."

"Really? That's not what a kid is usually obsessed with."

Grace shrugged, "well . . . he's not like most kids. But I remember Nathan saying that when he was pregnant, it was the only thing he ever craved and he barely ever eat it before!"

"Oh," Abbie said stopping at a dog treat stand, "do you want something Hunt- Hunter? Where'd you go?"

Both detective and forensic scientist looked around for the missing dog that had been trotting at their feet. They walked through the stands selling food and other items and when they rounded the corner they found Hunter had joined Nathan and Avi in their shopping trip. The dog and kid were standing side by side as the coroner payed for some items.

"Avi, quit stealing my dog," Abbie scolded teasingly.

Avi hugged Hunter close, "but I like her."

"I know you do, and she likes you to, but if she keeps running of I'll have to put her on a leash," she threatened. Hunter wined, "don't worry, girl. I would never do that to you."

Nathan turned around, "namaste guys, were just getting the last of Avi's school supplies."

"I'm gonna get a backpack!" the kid cheered.

"Yes, that's the last thing we need," he chuckled fixing his son's ballcap, "let's go check out Miss Loveheart's stand."

"Miss Loveheart?" Grace repeated, "isn't she the one who sells used school supplies?"

"Yes," he answered freezing in place, "and?"

"Well, I'm just thinking, shouldn't Avi have a new backpack?" she suggested, "I mean, it is his first school year."

"A used one will be fine," he said maintaining eye contact, "come on Avi."

"Don't just walk away," Grace growled, "I want to talk to you, alone."

"Grace," Nathan sighed, "I just can't leave Avi."

"You don't have to," she said, "Abbie can watch him."

"I can?" Abbie inquired.

"You see?" Grace asked, she grabbed Nathan by his wrist, "let's go."

"And if I say no?" he glared. Abbie could swear his eyes got darker the longer she watched.

"You don't get to say no," she whispered under her breath. Nathan glared even harder at that and from a few stands down, a kid's toy stand, the balloons tied to the posts popped all at once.

The noise was so loud it caused everyone with in a ten-yard radius to stop what they were doing and look. Even Abbie and Avi turned around to see the balloon shards float to the ground as the owner of the stall scratched his head in confusion. Grace took this as an opportunity to dragged Nathan, who had seemed to turn to stone once the balloons popped, away from the Canadian and his son.

Abbie turned back and say that they were gone, "oh no."

"Don't worry," Avi told her, but there was a sad look in his eyes, "mommy will be fine. He powerful."

"He is?" she asked, she hadn't heard of someone being described that way before, unless it was involving money.

He nodded and motioned her to lean closer, "don't tell anyone, but mommy made the balloons pop."

"He did?" she asked wide eyed.

"Yup," he confirmed leading her away from the stands to a bench under a tree, "he has magic."

"Magic?" she repeated looking around to make sure no one could hear. Thankfully the closest person around was over a block away, "what kind of magic?"

"Don't know," Avi shrugged petting Hunter, "he won't tell me, but it . . . its scary."

"How is it scary?" she asked carefully.

"When he gets mad, things blow up," he made an exploding motion with his hands, "one time, it was after my birthday party. Aunt Grace talked to him and he got mad, she left and all our lights went out. They went  _BOOM!_  And mommy's eye . . ."

"What about it?" Abbie asked pulling him to her side.

"The blue was glowing," he sniffled, "like lighting . . ."

Abbie didn't understand what Avi meant, so she just hugged the boy tighter and rubbed his back to south him. When his sniffles had died down she whipped his face and kneeled in front of him.

"How about we go get you a backpack?" she suggested, "my treat."

"But, mommy said it had to come form Miss Loveheart," Avi mumbled, "something about money . . ."

"Well," she stood up and took his hand, "we can check there, but you can pick out whatever backpack you want."

"Really?" he asked in awe.

"Really," she smiled.

They walked through the market stands that sold children's backpack. Avi ended up picking a red backpack with music notes and scales designed on it from Miss Loverheart's stand. The retired teacher had smiled at his choice and told him that he would be a great student. Avi gave her his best smile as he slipped the bag onto his back. Abbie laughed softly as she paid for it.

The aunt and nephew pair walked around for a while, searching for Nathan and Grace. Hunter lead the way in front of them through the crowds of people milling about. Abbie almost gave up and called them when the coroner rounded the corner.

Nathan sighed in relief, "there you are, I looked everywhere for you two!"

"Mommy look!" Avi said turning around, "auntie Abbie got me my backpack."

"You didn't have to do that," Nathan mumbled.

Abbie waved him off, "it's a gift, besides. Every kid deserves a backpack for their first day of school."

"Well, at least let me cook you supper as a thank you," he said knowing her couldn't win an argument with her.

She smiled, "sounds good."

The group walked from the farmers market to Nathan house located in the Historical Center. It turned out that he only lived about a few blocks over from Abbie and Hunter. His house was a small, two stories vintage style townhouse with forest green siding and brown trim work. The path way to the front door was lined with stepping stones and a beautiful garden of orchids ran along the front of the house.

Nathan unlocked the door and Avi and Hunter hurried inside and crashed on the couch. The floors were a dark hard wood and the walls were mostly cream coloured with pear green accent walls. On the main floor, the staircase sat in the middle of the space dividing the living room and dining room with a wall. The kitchen ran along the back of the house with a door leading to the back yard.

"It cozy," Abbie commented placing her bags by the door. She helped her co-worker carry his this to the kitchen and unload the groceries.

"Thank you," Nathan smiled, "would you like something to drink?"

"Do you have coffee?" she asked.

"I can have it ready in a minute," he replied, "can you pass me that canister?"

"This one?" she pointed to the large plastic canister with a measuring spoon attached to it sitting on the counter.

"Yup."

She picked it up and was surprised by its weight. She set it on the island counter next to him and he grabbed a glass from the cabinet, he pulled a pitcher of water from the fridge and used the spoon to measure out some of the white powder into the glass. He filled it with water and mixed the powder around.

"Avi!" Nathan called, "you need to drink you juice!"

Avi ran into the room, "is it chocolate?"

"No, its vanilla this time, they didn't have chocolate," he explained passing him the glass, "don't spill it or give it to Hunter."

"I won't!" he promised going back to the living room.

"What is this?" Abbie asked drying off the measuring spoon.

"Protein powder, whey to be precise," Nathan informed, "Avi has to have two glasses a day of this stuff."

"Because of his metabolism?"

He hummed, "he burns it so fast that its hard to keep up with. Can you get cut up a potato? There in the cupboard over there."

She pulled out one of the starchy vegetables and cut it up into small chunks. Nathan got out the rest of the ingredients and she watched as he worked. In almas no time, the food was in a pot cooking and they cleaned up the mess.

"Nathan?" Abbie broke the silence, "can I ask you a question?"

"You just did," he joked, "but sure, what would you like?"

"Well . . ." she mulled over her choices of words, "when we were at the market, and Grace got you mad. Those balloons popped."

"Balloons pop all the time," he said but she noted the slight tightness in his voice.

"But not a dozen all at the same time," she pointed out, "Avi also told me something about you."

"He did?" he asked not looking at her.

"He said you had magic."

Nathan laughed, "Avi has an active imagination. it's normal for kids to think the unexplained can be explained by simply calling it magic."

"So what do you call it?" Abbie asked.

He still wouldn't look at her, "what do you mean?"

"If you don't have magic, what do you have?" she tilted her head.

"A imaginative kid," he deadpanned, "seriously, Abbs, I  _don't_  have magic."

"So how do you explain the balloons popping?  _Or_  all the lights in your home going out at one, and  _not_  during a black out."

"Balloons can pop from the slightest things as for the light, maybe I had forgotten to pay the power bill."

She hummed unconvinced.

"Your not going to let up, are you?" asked Nathan rolling his dual coloured eyes.

"Nope!" Abbie responded popping the 'p'.

he sighed, "look, I would tell you if I could, but I cant."

"Why?" she asked sitting down at the table.

Nathan took a seat across from her fidgeting with his dog-tags, he did that when he was nervous, "it has to do with home. I promised someone important to me that I wouldn't tell anyone about them."

"Are they in trouble?" she inquired.

"all the time," he snorted, "but that isn't the reason. Maybe some day I'll tell you about it, but for now. please just forget about it."

she sigh, "for you, I'll try."

"Thank you," he said relived, "you really are my best friend."

"I couldn't agree more," Abbie smiled and changed the conversation, "is supper ready?"

"Should be," he said getting up to check, "it is, can you go get Avi?"

"Sure."


	15. Into The Vipers' Nest

Chief King barrelled into the office at record breaking speed and slapped a file of papers on Abbie's desk while the detective fixed the straps on her tool bag. She leaned forward and had enough time to see that it was Salvador Cordero's file before her boss started explaining the situation.

"Abbie! Reports are in that the Vipers gang leader, Salvador Cordero, has been murdered!" King informed, "we don't know much, other than it happened at the Vipers' headquarters: that seedy garage they like to call the Viper's Pit. And I just got a call from Howard Johnson, the City Mayor. He seems to have taken a special interest in this case, so you better not disappoint."

"Wow, Salvador's dead and the Mayor's watching . . ." Jones whistled, "Abbs, this could very well be our biggest case yet!"

"Well then, what are we waiting for?" Abbie asked grabbing her bag and keys.

"Nathan is waiting for you outside with his van," King said as they made their way to the elevator, "I told him not to go there with out you two."

The two-detective nodded as the doors slid closed. They road down to the ground floor and exited the station. The Head ME's van was parked next to their squad car and Nathan waved at them from the driver's seat. They got in their car and pulled out onto the road with the van behind them. The group drove over to the crime scene that was barricaded by around two dozen cars and officers trying to prevent the crowd of people from getting through.

The barrier of people parted just wide and long enough for the detective and coroner to get through. They parked next to the entrance door and got out. Abbie and Jones lead the way inside as Nathan got out his gurney and body bag.

When they got into the garage, the saw Salvador's body laying sprawled across the hood on a car with blood splattered all around it. Nathan got to work prepping the body while Abbie looked around for clues.

"A lot of people wanted Salvador dead . . ." Jones gagged looking like he was going to be sick, "and judging for all this gore, it looks like they killed him a thousand times over!"

"No," Nathan said, "only once."

"Ha, ha, funny. You should have been a comedian," he deadpanned, "actually, I can't even tell what's blood and what's spilled oil!"

"Most of the two got mixed together," he explained pointing out the puddles on the ground, "so most of this is useless."

"But this might not be," Abbie pipped up holding up a medical canister to the light, "I'm positive this is an asthma canister, but let's send it to the lab, see if they can find anything from it."

"I'll take it," Nathan promised.

Abbie tossed it to Jones to put with the ME's stuff. She then got out her tape and pieced together a torn-up card she had found hear the canister. It turned out to be a business card from the Blue Flamingo with a warning to Salvador written a crossed it.

"Would you look at this," she said showing the card, "its form the Blue flamingo, "Final Warning Salvador."

"Tony Marconi's club. Ha, how am I not surprised. Obviously, Salvador didn't take the threat seriously," Jones rolled his eyes, "and it's obvious that Marconi's involved! Abbie, maybe we'll get lucky and finally catch the guy!"

"Jones," Nathan sighed, "sometimes I worry about you."

"Only sometimes?" Abbie joked.

Once the body had been removed and loaded, they escorted the coroner back to the station before going to see Marconi. The club had been newly renovated and had a bluer design to it. The space was empty save for the owner at the register.

"So, Marconi," Jones greeted the mobster, "sending threats by business card now, eh?"

"Plenty of clients come to the Blue Flamingo and take the club's card," Marconi drawled, "that's what they are here for. To be taken."

"Don't keep action so innocent, Marconi!" he glared, "it doesn't suit you."

"You know what? That scumbag Cassidy was here last night," he recalled, "why don't you go bother him for a change? And in case you weren't smart enough to catch on, Jones, that was a rhetorical question!"

Marconi grabbed his clipboard and cashbox from the counter and took them to his office.

"I hate to admit it, but Marconi's got a point: we should go talk to Troy," Jones grumbled, "if we've learned anything from that gang case we cracked, it's that Salvador hated Troy. And as leader of the Skulls, Troy defiantly had a strong motive for wanting Salvador dead."

"Do you see one for Marconi?" Abbie asked.

"Not yet, but he can shout all he wants, we're still searching his club!" he declared.

"You mean I'm searching his club," she interjected getting to work.

As they had already noted, the club had completely been redecorated recently, Jones had commented that Marconi officially had no taste. However, the floor plan hadn't changed to it wasn't heard for Abbie to find a pile of oil soaked clothes hiding under a table.

"Is this meant to be a club or a garage?" Abbie wondered sifting through the clothes.

"All those oil stains on those clothes are giving me doubts," Jones agreed, "find anything?"

"Just a screwdriver," she said inspecting the tool, "in fact . . . it looks just like the ones in the Viper's Pit."

"We've got Marconi now!" he cheered.

"You've got nothing on me," Marconi smirked coming out of his office, "that screwdriver isn't mine."

"Oh yeah!?" Jones countered, "it's in your club! So, if it isn't yours, whose is it?!"

"The screwdrivers mine, David," the honeyed voice of Ginger purred exiting the manager's office behind Marconi.

"GINGER?!" he gasped, "what are  _you_  doing here?!"

"Can't a girl hang out at a club by herself?" she smirked.

"Ginger, you'd better be able to explain to us what you're doing with this screwdriver," he demanded trying to stay calm.

"Not everyone is as sweet as Abbie and you, David . . ." she smiled, "a girl needs protection and I guarantee you, with this tool, nobody screws me around!"

Abbie stiffened a laugh behind her hand.

"Please tell me you didn't take this screwdriver form Salvador's headquarters!" Jones begged.

"Of course not!" Ginger paled, "Salvador scared me, so I stayed well away form him and his seedy garage. Plus, all the dust in there would have brought on my asthma."

"I believe you . . ." he whispered.

Ginger pulled Jones away from his partner and the mobster to the other side of the club.

"I'm sorry I can't be of more help," she mumbled, "and go easy on Marconi, David. He ain't all bad . . . at least not to women."

"just . . . just stay safe, please?" he sighed.

"For, you?" she smiled, "always."

Ginger gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving the club. Back with Abbie and Marconi, the two had been talking quietly by themselves.

"Your partner couldn't be more blind," Marconi snickered.

"Trust me," Abbie rolled her eyes, "did you know his face lights up just when he hears her name?"

"Oh, I bet," he shook his head, "Gin does the same thing, he's the only guys I  _can't_  get her to shut up about!"

"You ready Abbie?" Jones called over.

"Coming!" she replied, "I'd say goodbye, but I think I'll be back soon, Malfaiteur."

"I look forward to it, Poliziotta."

Abbie whistled for Hunter to fallow and the two headed outside back to the car. Jones was already waiting for them in the passenger seat, and Abbie put Hunter in the back before taking the seat behind the wheel.

"If I didn't know Ginger any better, I'd say she's acting highly suspicious," Jones pondered before ginning like a love-struck fool, "but how could she possibly lie with those eyes!"

"L'amour peut render une person aveugle," Abbie said wisely.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she hummed, "just talking to myself, want to find Troy?"

"Do I? No. Will I? Yes," he grumbled.

Abbie held back the urge to roll her eyes and turned to car onto the correct street. She pulled up in front of the abandoned parking lot where the Skulls leader was known for hang out at. Sure enough, Troy was sitting on the curb smoking.

"Was wondering how long it would take you," Troy said scuffing out his cigarette.

"Well, we got a tip that you were at the Blue Flamingo last night," Abbie informed.

"Yeah, I was chilling at the Blue Flamingo last night," he confirmed, "so what? You think I killed Salvador? So maybe he was my rival, but I preferred to deal with a dumb-ass like Salvador then with someone with more brains."

"when was the last time you saw him?" she asked,

He thought about it, "I hadn't seen him in a while. We had nothing to talk about. And I definitely had nothing to gain from his death."

"What's with that oil stain on your clothes?" Jones inquired referring to the large stain on the red muscle shirt.

"What's that got to do with anything?!" Troy barked, "I'm fixing up my bike. And I'd like to get back to it, so leave me alone!"

And they did just that. They left the gang leader to his work and headed back to the station to do theirs. They road the elevator up to the tech lab to see what Alex had found from that medicine canister.

"Turns out that medicine canister you gave me is an asthma canister. I ran its serial number through the database, hoping to find a lead . . . but it was a dead end . . ." Alex grumbled, "which means the medicine was bought illegally: either because it cheaper or because the user wants to keep it a secret."

"So, it could be anybody's!" Jones threw his hands up in frustration.

"I asked Nathan to check Salvador's lungs: they showed no signs of the condition . . ." he told them, "which means that the person who does have asthma . . . is your killer!"

"Alex," Abbie smiled, "you're a genius."

"I know," he beamed.

"And speaking of Nathan," Jones but in, "we better go see what he found."

They left Alex to his work and headed down to the basement to see what their coroner had found. Nathan was sliding Salvador into storage when they came in.

"Salvador's skull was broken right open!" Nathan began, "such a brutal murder means the killer must have been furious with him!"

"Can you tell what he was killed with?" Abbie inquired.

"I found large amounts of glass fragments stuck inside his head, so I'm assuming the killer used a glass bottle," he described, "I'm think the motive for the murder might have been about honor. I say this because the killer spat on Cordero's corpse! But, and your going to love this: in doing so they also spat out their gum."

"Which means our killer chews gum," she finished for him.

Nathan nodded in confirmation as the doors to his morgue slid open. Chief King marched into the room with a thunderous look of rage on his face. A sheet of paper was clenched in his hand which he shoved into Jones's face when he stopped in front of the younger man.

"Jones!" King exploded, "Marconi's lawyers have filled a restraining order against you claiming you have a maniacal obsession with him!"

"What?!" Jones yelped grabbing the paper to read, "but I didn't do anything! Don't you see this means Marconi's guilty! He's scared of getting caught!"

"ENOUGH! He's legally allowed to do so and even I understand him: you've let your personal hatred for Marconi dictate your actions and you pushed it to far!" he snapped, "now go search every last toolbox in that blasted garage! And I trust you check out the sewers since they're right next to the crime scene?"

"Ah . . ." he gulped, "no, sir . . ."

"No?!" King repeated angrily, "for god's sake, go sweep those damn sewers! And Jones, this time you're driving!"

"Yes Chief!" Jones and Abbie saluted. Abbie tossed her partner the keys before speeding off after him, Hunter right on her heels. King sighed and picked up the restraining order from Jones had dropped.

"I knew he would get in trouble," he grumbled.

Nathan shrugged, "not like you could stop him, Chief."

"No," he slipped the paper into his pocket, "no I couldn't. How's Avi making out?"

"Good, I think," he replied, "little upset that I had to drop him off early for school, but he got over it when he saw the classroom."

King chuckled, "probably one of the only kid that actually gets excited for school."

_Back with Jones and Abbie . . ._

The two detectives were searching trough all of the tool boxes they could find in the Vipers Pit. Jones took the handle held ones while Abbie had the rolling toolboxes. She opened the last one and found a dirty rag with fresh oil on it, a torn-up map, and a set of dog tags. She set them all on the desk top to get a better look.

"I know you're gifted at finding objects in unlikely places, Abbs, but I didn't expect such a small toolbox to give us so much!" Jones congratulated while she worked to piece the map back together, "first, let's send this oil-stained rag back to the lab . . . this dog tag. It has the Vipers logo with the name "Ash" inscribed on it . . . ring any bells?"

"Faint ones," she said taping the last of the map.

"In our very first case! It must belong to Ash Bison!" he reasoned, "we haven't seen Ash since, but as a Viper gang member I'm sure he's been keeping busy. And I think it's high time we had a catch-up with him!"

"well . . ." Abbie tilted her head, "this is definitely a map . . . but what's it doing in the Vipers' Pit?"

"Wait a minute! That's a map of this very district!" Jones pondered it over, "and red and blue . . . do you think these colours could be the skulls and the Vipers gang colours?"

"It looks like they were trying to divide the district," she mused.

"I agree . . . and it doesn't look like things ended very well!" he said picking up the map, "both gang leader would have been here for this, which proves Troy saw Salvador recently, even if he told us otherwise! Abbie, this gives Tory one hell of a motive: we should go see him . . . and this time he'd better tell us the truth!"

"But first," she smirked, "we have to visit your favorite place."

He groaned. She dragged him out of the garage and over to the sewer entrance. She tossed him a diving suit to wear before climbing down. Jones hopped into the murky water while Abbie stayed above to look for clues. She found a newer looking shoe and a bottle of hand sanitizer covered in blood. She had to wait for her partner to come back up and when he did, she held up her finds.

"What the . . .?!" Jones cried, "you're telling me that I dived into the sewers and found nothing, while you stay nice and dry and find all this?! Huh . . . well, er, excellent work, Abbie!"

"Thank you," she snickered scraping a sample off of the shoe, "better send this to the lab, it looks like there's fresh oil on it."

"Same with this hand sanitizer! Have you seen the blood!?" he asked.

"No, it completely escaped my notice," she deadpanned.

He blushed, "right . . . stupid question . . ."

She got a sample of the blood to send to Grace along with the rag and soil. They climbed out of the sewers and once Jones stripped out of his wet suit, they got in their car and drove off. They dropped the samples off at the lab before going to find Ash Bison. They found the Viper handing out in an alleyway in Caribou Corner.

"Are these your, Ash?" Abbie asked holding up the dog tags.

"Thanks for finding my dog tags. Really greet police work. I'm impressed," Ash snickered taking them from her.

"Oh, ha ha, Ash," Jones glared, "and don't you think you should at least try and pretend you're saddened by Salvador's death?"

"That guy was an idiot," he sneered, "he kept doing dumb shit to try and trigger my asthma for laughs. Now look who's laughing!"

"My, my. Asthma, and mistake me if I'm wrong but that's a piece of chewing gum in your mouth . . ." he hummed, "Ash, you're the perfect suspect."

"I'm flattered I'm so high up on your list, but you better beat it before you become the perfect punching ball!" he threatened cracking his knuckles.

They left the Viper member alone and went to find the Skull leader. Troy was working in his own private garage on his bike when they got there.

"Troy Cassidy," Jones called, "I could arrest you right now. You lied about not seeing Salvador, we have proof that you were at the Viper's Pit recently.

"What?!" Troy shot up, "you can't arrest me just because I was at Salvador's garage! So yeah, ok, I was there for a bit . . . but that's all!"

"What about this map?" Abbie asked showing him it.

"I managed to talk him out of a gang war in exchange for a bit of my land. But that asshole just kept wanting more and more!" he yelled.

"You know what, Troy?" Jones interrupted, "it actually sounds like you had a whole lot to gain from his death. And it doesn't help that it seems your meeting ended with a fight!"

"Okay, yeah, I lost my temper with Salvador but I didn't kill him!" Troy defended, "I'm always on the edge these days cus' I'm trying to quite smoking. It's not good for my asthma. I chew gum, it helps, but it doesn't beat nicotine. Know what I'm saying?"

"No," Abbie said, "can't say I do."

They got back into their squad car and left the garage.

"Ha ha, what a gullible idiot," Jones laughed, "chews gum . . . asthmatic . . . you realize Troy's just delivered us all the information on a sliver platter?"

"But it doesn't mean he did it," Abbie pointed out.

"No, but it still keeps him as a suspect," he countered.

They headed back over to the station to see what Grace had found for them with their samples. The woman was waiting for them in their office with a clipboard in hand.

"Even at first glance anybody could tell hat rag was covered in oil. Which isn't surprising since you found it in a garage," Grace said looking at her notes, "what IS surprising however are the small glass fragments I found on it. Fragments that match the glass found in Cordero's wounds . . . this proves the rag was used by the killer post-murder! And traces of fibers also show this rag was rub against clothing. This is because your killer tried to remove an oil stain from their clothes. They didn't manage, of course: this type of car oil is impossible to get rid of, which means you killer is wearing oil-stained clothes."

"Er, okay . . . good . . . er . . . good work . . . Grace," Jones stammered remembering Ginger had one on her dress.

The red-head made no comment on his mood, "moving on to the soil you sent me. Its an interesting sample you took from it. I found traces of car oil which is exactly the same oil as the one from the Vipers Pit. Which means the shoe's owner was there."

"Sure, that's interesting . . ." he sighed, "but it doesn't really help us much."

"This next bit will: I also found traces of soil that can only be found in Cooperville. That should narrow down the list of possible suspects."

"Abbie, who do we know in Cooperville?"

Abbie though about it, "there's One-Tooth Sam and Raphael Soza."

"One-Tooth Same, of course! We haven't seen him since we cracked that gruesome case!" Jones said lighting up, "it'd be nice to see Sam again, and besides, he knows everything that goes on in Cooperville so we should definitely go talk to him."

"Before you go," Grace interrupted, "I analyzed the blood you found on the hand sanitizer. And I turns out it's Salvador's blood."

"What the . . . but how?! That doesn't make any sense!" Jones argued.

"It makes perfect sense, Jones," she countered, "by trying to erase all evidence, they actually preserved some vital information: which is that your killer uses hand sanitizer."

"Abbie, this hand sanitizer business reminds me of the Russian Case where it was a vital piece of evidence," he rambled, "in the Russian Case files, we highlighted all the suspects who used hand sanitizer and the list included Tony Marconi! This means he must be the killer!"

"Are you forgetting something?" Abbie raised an eyebrow.

". . . okay, you right. I'll leave Marconi alone," he grumbled, "fine, forget I ever said anything but please note it in your file that he uses hand sanitizer . . ."

She rolled her eyes but pulled up their suspect profiles on her computer to update them. Jones sat down at his desk while she worked and Grace left them alone.

"Abbie, I didn't want to say anything in front of Grace, but do you realize Ginger has an oil stain on her clothes!!!" Jones whispered.

"I did," Abbie nodded, "but how do you think she got it?"

"I don't know," he admitted, "but let's not jump to conclusions . . . maybe she had a good reason for going to . . . Salvador's garage . . . oh, let's just ask her!"

He picked up his phone and dialed the Southern Bell's number, when she answered he asked her to come in to see them. Ginger came into the station shortly after and Jones sat her next to him at his desk.

"Ginger . . ." Jones stated, "we know you were at the Viper's Pit."

"How did you find out?" Ginger gasped, he motioned to the stain on her dress, "oh, because of that oil stain?! I tried whipping the damn thing off with hand sanitizer, but I think I just made it worse."

"So, you did go to the Pit?" he asked sighing while Abbie added "uses hand sanitizer" to Ginger's profile.

"Yes, I was at the Viper's Pit. But not by choice! Salvador dragged me there by force, ranting that I had to start working for him or pay the price!" Ginger got a look of horror on her face, "you know, just because I'm a hooker, I'm still allowed to say "No." Right?"

"Ginger . . ." he paled, "are you telling us that . . . did Cordero . . ."

"No," she took a deep breath, "he stopped . . . stopped dead in his tracks, you could say. And I wish I could thank whoever killed that scumbag!"

"Go home, Gin," Jones whispered, "I'll only call you if it's urgent. But you have my number, don't hesitate to use it."

"I know," Ginger smiled softly. She leaned forward and placed a kiss on his check before waving goodbye to Abbie and leaving out the elevator. One the numbers showed she was past their floor, Jones exploded.

"Salvador's evil knew no bounds!" he shouted red-faced, "if he was still alive, you can be sure I'd kill him all over again!"

"Take a deep breath and calm your nerves," Abbie advised.

He did as he was told, "if you ask me, this story gives Ginger a very good reason to kill him . . . this is awful, Abbie: all the elements are pointing to Ginger as our prime suspect! I hope it's not so . . . I just couldn't bear it!"

"We will find out the truth, Jones," she promised, "but for now, we have a de facto mayor to talk to."

Jones willingly fallowed her out of the station and let her drive them over to the homeless camp under the bridge. One-Tooth Sam was trying to fix up one of the huts again by replacing the metal sidings.

"Sam," Abbie smiled at the man, "does this shoe look familiar to you?"

"Of course, I know who that shoe belongs to: it's mine . . ." the old informed, "and to be completely honest with you, I was at the Vipers' Pit quite recently."

"Why?" she asked.

"I went there to try and convince Salvador to stop vandalizing Cooperville," he glared, "it was pointless though: Salvador just threw me out . . . right into a puddle of oil to!"

"I'm sorry to hear that Sam," Jones said, "but you understand that this makes you a suspect now. You'll have to stuck around until the case is over."

"Don't worry, I wasn't planning on going anywhere and it'll be nice seen you a bit more of you both!" Sam grinned, "and say, you wouldn't happen to have a piece of gum on you, would'ya? I ate way too much garlic for lunch and the smell is driving me crazy."

"Here, Sam," he said pulling out a pack and tossing it to the man.

They left the homeless camp and got back into their car.

"First Ginger now Sam . . ." Jones shook his head, "Abbs, I can't believe our friends are now our suspects!"

"I guess it's a way of life," Abbie shrugged.

He huffed, "I'm telling you Marconi's hiding something from us! And we could find out what if he hadn't put a restraining order on me . . ."

"Yes, how horrible . . ." she deadpanned.

"Wait a second! That's it!" he cried, "Abbie, the restraining order is only against me! Why don't you take Ramirez and go talk to Marconi!"

"Really?" she asked.

"Sure! I'll drop you off and he can meet you there!" he said pulling out his phone, "and when your done, you can join me for a search in the sewers: there's something I'd like to check."

About fifteen minutes later, Ramirez pulled up in front of the Blue Flamingo where Abbie and Hunter were waiting for him. They entered the club and Marconi blinked seeing them.

"You've got to be kidding me!" the Italian cried, "do I have to put a restraining order on the whole police department?!"

"We only have to ask you a few more question, Mr. Linguini, sir," Ramirez assured sweating.

"It's Marconi, you idiot!" he grinded his teeth, "why don't you go talk to someone like Ash Bison? He's just become he new Vipers' gang leader!"

"Thank you for the lead, Mr. Tortellini, but-"

"It's Marconi, you fucking imbecile!" he spat, "damn it, you mad me spit out my gum!"

He stormed off into his office to presumably get a new piece of gum.

"Did you notice Marconi has a big oil stain on his clothes?" Ramirez asked, "it kept distracting me."

"Well he was also right about Ash, if he really is the leader now, we better fallow up on it," Abbie said, "and we should have another look around before Marconi comes back."

"Maybe I shouldn't talk to Marconi anymore . . . he makes me nervous," he gulped, "but your right, Abbie, we still need to have a better look at his club."

Abbie looked around the place quickly and spotted an empty asthma inhaler on one of the bar stools. She pocketed it just as Marconi came back and the two cops made a beeline for the exit.

They got outside and Abbie pulled out the inhaler, "ta, da!"

"Well done! It looks like and asthma inhaler!" Ramirez cheered, "er, what do we actually do with this now that we've found it?"

"I find some fingerprints," she explained getting the kit out. She found a good usable fingerprint of the back of the inhaler to run through the database.

"Great job, Abbie. Its such an honor to watch an expert like you at work," Ramirez praised.

"Now, I need you to bring this to Alex, once we see what Jones wants," Abbie said handing him the prints.

"very well," he said taking them, "you're the boss."

They got into Ramirez's squad car and Abbie directed him to where the sewer entrance was. jones was already in his wet suit waiting from them by the opened entrance.

"You want to dive in again?" Abbie asked skeptically.

Jones nodded, "I know there's something down there."

"Okay, if you say so," she said fallowing him down the ladder.

Jones hopped back into the murky water will Abbie stayed above to look for clues. While her partner was under the water, she looked around and found an old knife on the steps to the water. How Jones hadn't seen it on his way down was a mystery, but she picked it up. The male detective came back up from his dive with nothing but an old tin can which he threw away.

"So, you got a can and I have a knife," Abbie said twisting the item in her hand, "how do you think this fight would end?"

"Well Abbie, by now I should know better than not to trust your instincts, so if you think this knife is important, you must be right," Jones said picking off some seaweed, "there's a serial number engraved in it but its too faded to read. Do you think you can decipher the numbers for us?"

"Can I?" she smirked already writing some of the numbers down, "who do you think I am?"

He laughed, "a damn good detective."

She laughed at his joke as she wrote down the remaining numbers from the knife. She attached the tag o the handle and the climbed back up the ladder to the surface. They gave I to Ramirez to take to Alex, and once Jones was out of his suit, they drove over to talk to Ash again.

"So, Ash," Jones said once they found the man, "I hear you're the new leader of the Vipers."

"Again, amazing police work guys," Ash rolled his eyes, "so you've found out I'm the new leader of the Vipers . . . as if it was a big secret!"

"I guess you must be happy about that," Abbie prompted.

"Yeah, I'm happy," he nodded, "and let me know when you catch Salvador's killer so I can send them a thank you card! But I'm no idiot. I know Marconi will always be the true boss of this district. Those who forget that, die."

"One last thing, Ash," Jones said before the man could leave, "how do you explain that oil stain you have there?"

"Seriously?!" Ash barked, "you ain't so bright after all. I spend most of my time in the Vipers' Pit. Of course, I'm gonna get stained!"

Jones and Abbie left the new gang leader alone and drove back to the station. They grabbed Ramirez on the way to Alex's lab to see what their geek had found.

"So, I ran the fingerprint through the database. And without sounding too geeky, I crossed-examined it and isolated the print's pattern . . ." Alex explained, "and it turns out that fingerprint belongs to none other than Tony Marconi!"

Ramirez mouth dropped, "you mean that-?!"

"Yup. Marconi's astatic!" he declared.

"Well, Abbie, I hope I was of help," Ramirez told the Canadian, "and all I can say is that it was a pleasure working with you."

"Same with you, Ramirez," Abbie smiled. The officer left the lab as Alex pulled up n old army picture on his monitor.

"The knife belongs to a certain Samuel Bennett. As it was military issued, it was easy enough to trace it," Alex rambled showing them the picture, "however, the only thing I managed to find on Samuel Bennett was an old military picture. I'm sorry I couldn't find more."

"It alright, Alex," Abbie assured the man.

"This is weird," Jones scratched his head, "I'm convinced I've seen this man just recently . . ."

"Well, if you have, you've seen a ghost!" Alex told him, "Samuel Bennett disappeared from the system a long time ago, it's like he completely vanished."

"Wait a minute! Yes, that's it!" he cried, "Abbie, I know who this photo reminds me of! Look at that face, it' changed a lot since the photo was taken but the smile's the same: it's One-Tooth-Sam!"

"But why would his knife be in the sewers?" Abbie questioned.

"Oh no, this isn't good!" he paled, "I don't think Sam just happened to lose his knife . . . it's much more likely he wanted it to be lost for good! Abbs, Sam's acting like a guilty man, but let's go talk to him and hope he has a perfectly innocent explanation for this . . ."

"I'm sure he does," she said grabbing the knife and putting it in her bag.

They drove over to the homeless camp under the bridge to find Sam still working on the hut. Abbie pulled out the knife as they walked over and the old man glared when he saw it.

"Yes, it's my knife," Sam said before they could even ask, "but you gotta understand: already the Vipers make our lives a living hell. And then Salvador himself comes and terrorizes one of the girls here at the camp! I had to do something! I'm old and my asthma's getting worse, so I thought even if I got caught, it wouldn't matter. All I knew is that Salvador had to die! But when I got to the Vipers'' Pit, I saw Salvador and . . . chickened out. No matter how much I hated him, I just couldn't bring myself to kill a man . . . truth is I'm just a weak, pathetic old man . . . couldn't ever do anything right in my life."

"You're not weak Sam," Jones smiled, "you're the pillar of your community. Your people depend on you! And besides, it's our job to take care of such monsters."

"Maybe your right . . ." he sighed, "but I wish I could help you more."

"Don't worry," Abbie smiled as well, "you've helped us more then you realize."

They left the man to his work and got back in their car to head back to the station.

"Poor Sam. I thought I knew him well . . ." Jones sighed, "but there are a lot of elements which incriminate him. I hope he's telling the truth: I would hate to see such a kind-hearted person be locked up for trying to save his community!"

They got back to the station and recapped over what they knew. So far, they had three suspects that fit their killer's profile, but they were still missing the last piece of evidence they needed to arrest one. Abbie even went back over all the evidence they had already found, but got nothing that could help close the case.

"Abbie, I can't believe it but this might just turn out to be our first unsolved case!" Jones sweated, "it looks like it's going to be back to car patrolling for me!"

"Detective Abbie, Jones!" One-Tooth-Sam called as he rushed into their office carrying a shoe box in his hands, "I've been looking all over for you! Me and my boys, we often look around garbage cans for things we could use. Well, while looking inside of one of 'em, we found what looked like blood-stained glass! Now, normally we wouldn't pay it no mind, but as it was near the Vipers' Pit, I thought it best to bring it to you."

"Thank you, Sam, this could be the last piece of the puzzle!" Jones thanked, "speaking of puzzles, Abbie, d'you think you can reassemble these pieces back together?"

"I can try," Abbie said slipping on some gloves. Sam gave her the shoebox and she carefully glued the pieces of glass back together to from the broken neck of a bottle.

"Well done, Abbs," Jones grinned, "this looks like the neck of a glass bottle and it's definitely covered in blood. Let's not waste time and send it straight to the lab."

"On it!" she declared grabbing the box and sprinting to the forensics lab.

_One analyses later . . ._

"What did you find Grace?" Abbie asked once they had gotten to the lab.

"The glass from the bottle matches the shards of glass found inside Salvador's skull, so congratulations, you've found us our murder weapon," Grace announced, "and if that wasn't exacting enough, there was also a different blood type on that bottle. It wasn't Salvador's, but your killer's. Thanks to your great detective work, we now know your killer's blood type is AB+."

"Abbie, it looks like we're finally ready to go catch our killer!" Jones said, "but we can't afford to be wrong about this, so be extra carful."

"I already know who it is," Abbie frowned grabbing her cuffs.

"Who?" he asked.

"You'll see."

She to the lead and drove the car over to the Blue Flamingo, Jones's face seemed to be changing between worry and excitement as he realized where they were going. Abbie parked the car and got out, handing him a slip of paper with the killer's name on it. He grinned and stuffed it in his pocket as they entered the night club.

"The game's up, Marconi!" Jones proclaimed, "you're under arrest for the murder of Salvador Cordero!"

"I was wondering whether you'd manage to get me for this . . ." Marconi smirked holding his hands out for Abbie, "but I guess I almost made it to easy for you."

"I was thinking the same thing," he admitted, "how can a man who's been so careful so far suddenly make such a lousy mistake?"

"Salvador's the one who made a mistake, not me, Jones . . . I was going to pay that big-headed idiot a visit to remind him who's the true boss around here . . ." his expression turned furious, "but when I got to his seedy garage, I caught him . . . hurting Ginger . . . can you believe it?! That  _pig_  was trying to have his way whit her!"

"You mean you killed him . . . to protect Ginger?!" he gasped.

"You don't hit woman," he sighed giving Abbie a sideways glance, "you just don't . . ."

"I'm glad you were there for Ginger, Tony, but you shouldn't have killed him," Jones shook his head, "offender should be but behind bars, not six feet underground."

"Someone had to take that trash out . . ." Marconi smirked, "you know Jones, you and I, we're alike: we both do what ever it takes to protect our community."

"You've got it all wrong, Marconi: you think you're above the law, and I'm here to remind you the law is above everybody!"

"Sure . . ."

"Let's go, Malfaiteur," Abbie nudged the mobster out of the door.

"You know," Marconi whispered so only she could hear, "no matter what anyone thinks of me, I value Gin like my daughter."

"I'm sure she knows that," she smiled sadly, "I'm sure she does . . ."

_In a packed Court room . . ._

"Do you have anything to add Mr. Marconi?" Judge Hall asked.

Marconi stood up, "yeah: putting me behind bars for what I did would be the real crime here."

"You killed a man, Mr. Marconi," she reminded shocked, "a human being!"

"I'm sorry, but by assaulting Ginger, Salvador gave up his right to be called a human being," he barked, "which, in my book, also means giving up the right to live."

"Maybe, but in my book the rules are simple: a life is a life. And it is definitely not yours to give of take," she barked right back.

"Well, let's just agree to disagree."

"Mr. Maroni, I can see there is no way to make you realize your crime. You're deluded and a menace to society, I hereby sentence you to 20 to life!"

"I'll never forget what you did for me, Tony!" Ginger called as he was being led out.

"Don't worry about it doll," Marconi called back, "with the lawyers I have, I'll be out before you can blink."

The crowded Court room filled out in a line to get to the outside. Jones, and Abbie walked out together and saw Chief King and another man waving them over.

"Congratulations, Abbie, we've finally arrested Marconi," Jones cheered as they walked over, "but I've go to admit, I'm kinda annoyed we caught him for this and not for one of his other countless dirty crimes . . ."

"We but a killer behind bars and gave a dead man justice," Abbie smiled, "that's all that matters."

When they reached their boss, Chief King smiled widely, "ah, Abbie, there you are! There's someone very important who'd like to meet you personally."

"Mayor Howard Johnson," the other man introduced himself sticking his hand out, "it's an absolute honor to meet you Abbie, I've heard so many excellent things about you."

"The honor is mine," Abbie smiled shaking his hand.

"The citizens of this city are lucky to have you," Johnson continued, "lord knows they need you . . . keep up the great work, Abbie!"

With a final goodbye, the city Mayor left the group of cops alone to attend to other business.

"Abbie, how does it feel to be congratulated by the Mayor himself?!" King asked, "I've got to say, I'm extremely proud of you. As long as we have criminal in Grimsborough, we'll have a need for people like you."

"Thank you," Abbie beamed.

"Now to celebrate!" Jones yelled slinging his arm around her shoulder.

"Just remember you have work in the morning," King reminded.

"We will!" he promised

_The next day, in Chief King's office . . ._

"Abbie, you've proven more then yourself and you've quickly climbed the ranks to become one of our best elements!" King praised proudly, "there are a few things I'd like you to do, and if you complete them, you're in for a big reward."

"Name them," Abbie grinned ready.

"Ginger phoned, requesting your help. She says she's waiting for you at the Blue Flamingo," he said looking at a notepad, "and I's like you to check up on One-Tooth-Same and thank him for helping us put Marconi behind bars."

"Sounds good, Chief," she nodded.

"Ready to hit the streets again?" Jones asked.

"As always."

They left the Chief's office and were on their way out to the elevator when Ramirez stopped them.

"Abbie, Troy Cassidy called, asking for your help," the Mexican informed, "I wrote it down, he says, "no, it's not a joke, and yes, it's urgent."

"Troy's asking for our help?" Jones cocked an eyebrow, "huh, as if we'd help out that thug!"

"He wouldn't ask for our help unless it was important," Abbie pointed out.

"Fine, your right," he agreed, "we better add him to our to-do list. But first, let's go see Sam."

They headed over to the homeless camp where Sam was talking to a group of residences. They waited for him to finish and once the crowed had dispersed, they walked over to him.

"Ah, Abbie, I've been wanting to thank you: you've made me realize it's time to dig up my past back up!" Sam said before they could thank him, "when I decided to give up my identity, I hid the last of my treasure in a metal box in the sewers . . . but it was so long ago, I can't even remember where!"

"Don't worry, Sam," Jones told his friend, "Abbie and I will find it for you in no time! We owe you that much!"

"And that's saying a lot," Abbie laughed, "Jones hates the sewers!"

The two-detective left the homeless camp to find the nearest sewer entrance. Jones lifted the cover off with a crowbar and they shimmied down the ladder. They shined their flashlights around, looking for the box. Abbie spotted it underneath the pipe and Jones held her hand as she leaded across the water to grab it. She grabbed the lock and signalled for her partner to pull her back.

"Well done, Abbie. This doesn't exactly look like a treasure box but it does look old. Let's check to be sure," Jones reasoned, "here's a challenge: do you think you can pick that lock before I finish reciting the alphabet?"

"Your on," Abbie smirked.

"A . . . B . . . C . . ."

Abbie spun the lock as he said the letters, she could see the number summing to her in her head and she easily had the lock unlocked.

"Wow, Abbs, you managed to crack the box's lock before I even got to F!" he said impressed, "that's incredible!"

"Thanks, but we have a treasure to find," she reminded, refiling through the old papers. She found old photos and film but at the bottom was a surprise. She pulled out a gorgeous, ruby necklace in the shape of a heart set in a sliver holder surrounded buy diamonds.

"This jewel is absolutely stunning!" Jones gapped, "surely it can't be real, otherwise it wouldn't make sense for a homeless man to keep it for so long and not sell it!"

"He did say he got rid of this box," Abbie said picking it up, "maybe he forgot about it?"

"Or maybe Sam's finally going cuckoo . . ." he muttered, "well, the only way to find out the truth is by having Grace check whether this jewel is genuine or not."

"Right," she agreed.

They dropped the jewel off with Grace then decided to go see Ginger at the Blue Flamingo. The southern bell was behind the counter with a clipboard in hand and had a "Manager" name tag pinned to her dress and a new blue necklace.

"Oh, Abbie, I knew it was to good to be true: before sent to prison, Marconi appointed me as the new manager of the Blue Flamingo . . ." Ginger explained pointing to the name tag, "and I had the legal document to prove it and everything, but that damn Curtis snatched the paper away from me and called me a lair!"

"Where Curtis now?" Abbie asked.

"I've got Biff holding him in custody in the back of the club," she nodded over to them, "but we can't get Curtis to give the document back."

"Let us handle this, Ginger!" Jones said, "we'll give Curtis a good talking to and get your document back in no time at all."

"I don't know what I would do with out you! You're like my guardian angels!" Ginger blew him a kiss.

Abbie dragged her love-struck partner rom the bar to the back where Biff had Curtis sitting on one of the couches.

"That document's obviously a fake!" Curtis growled, "maybe the others believe her lies, but I refuse to let this club get taken over by some whore!"

"You better watch your mouth, Curtis!" Jones warned, "and just give us the document: we'll get it authenticated in no time!"

"No way! I can't believe your defending that fucking liar!" he cried, "and about that document? I haven't touched it!"

"He's laying, detectives," Biff interrupted, "I saw Curtis enter the club with a briefcase, maybe my new boss's doc is in there."

"Thanks for the tip, Biff," Abbie grinned already looking for the case.

"Right, Abbs," Jones agreed watching her work, "better search the club for pain-in-the-ass's briefcase."

Abbie walked around the club, checking under tables and chairs for the briefcase. She found it under one of the bar stools and picked it up. She set it on the bar and clicked it open. Ginger watched her search through the papers and the detective pulled out a document with Tony Marconi's signature on it.

"Got it!" she yelled waving the paper.

Jones took a look at it, "it definitely looks legit. But let's send Marconi's signature to he lab to et it verified, just to shut Curtis up!"

They first explained to Ginger what they were going to do before they left the club and dropped the document off with Alex. They then headed over to Troy's garage where the man had just finished his bike.

You said you needed our help?" Abbie asked the man.

"I was impressed by how you solved Salvador's death: you always seem to find what your looking for, so I figured you could help me out," Troy explained, "thing is, some time back someone stole a blueprint of mine and I'm pretty sure it was the Vipers. I already looked all over for it, but no dice!"

"And why should we help you, Troy?" Jones wondered, "it's not like you ever helped us."

"That blueprint was my ticket to a better life!" he beamed, "if you find it, I'll quit gang life and become a full-time inventor. I'll never trouble you again."

"That a promise?" the red clad man nodded, "fine, Abbie, let's go see if Troy's blueprint is at the Vipers' Pit."

Jones and Abbie drove over to the Vipers' headquarters to search for the missing blueprints. The garage was going to be opened back up to the public soon so they had to search quickly. Abbie found a pile of blue papers on one of the roiling toolboxes.

"This definitely looks like it used to be a blueprint . . ." Abbie picked up the pieces.

"I guess The Vipers just tore it up for the heck of it!" Jones glared, "Troy would most probably go on a rampage if he ever found out! . . . so maybe we should just piece it back without him knowing, don't you think?"

"Couldn't have said it better myself," she agreed getting her tape. She taped the back side of the blueprints and the plans turned out to be for a motorcycle. She concentrated for a second and the visible tear lines mended together and the tape disappeared. Jones hadn't seen her so she just held up the blueprints.

"Good job, Abbie. It looks like the plans for a new kind of motorbike. Pretty brainy actually," Jones admitted, "but you know, if Troy lied to us and this isn't his, it would make us accomplices of theft!"

"There's worst things to be," Abbie pointed out.

"Well, so that we don't end up on the wrong side of the law, I think we should confirm this blueprint is really his by reveling his fingerprints."

"Alright," she said dusting the paper. She found a good set of usable prints for Alex to check, "one fresh batch of prints for the lab."

"Well know whether it's Troy's blueprints or not in no time!"

They drove back to the station and dropped the prints off with Alex before heading across the hall to see what Grace had found out with the jewel.

"Is Sam's jewel real?" Abbie asked.

"Are you sure this jewel belongs to Sam?" Grace asked back, "because if it does, it easily makes him one of the richest men in Grimsborough!"

"What?!" Jones yelped, "you're telling me One-Tooth-Sam is a millionaire?! Talk about going from rags to riches!"

"And just with this one jewel," Abbie blinked picking up the necklace.

"But I still don't get why he didn't sell it earlier?"

"What better way to find out then to ask him."

"Hey guys!" Alex yelled from his lab, "I got something!"

They left the forensics lab and entered the tech lab.

"What do you have?" Abbie asked.

"First, there's no two ways about it, it's definitely Marconi's signature. Which means this document is 100 percent legit!" Alex grinned handing it over.

"Nice one, Alex!" Jones celebrated taking the form, "well, Abbie, I'm gonna enjoy shoving this in Curtis face! But first, let's go tell Ginger the good news."

"Perfect," Abbie smiled, "don't suppose you have the fingerprint results as well?"

Alex nodded, "they belong to Troy Cassidy. And by the way, it's a pretty cool bike. I dig it!"

"Who knew Troy was a genius?" Jones thought out loud, "I didn't!"

"Well, at least now we can give the blueprints back to him," Abbie said, "by the way, I'm taking my bike."

"Alright."

Jones got into his car with the jewel and document. Abbie loaded Hunter into her backpack and got on her bike to fallow him. They visited Sam first and Jones clenched the necklace in his hands.

"Here you go Sam," Jones said giving it to his old friend, "I believe this is yours."

"I bought this jewel for my wife, way back when . . . and then my wife got sick, and even all the money in the world couldn't save her," Sam sighed remembering Lily, "when she died, suddenly the sight of money made me sick, so I got rid of it all . . . this jewel is the only thing I couldn't bring myself to throw away. When I started out homeless, I didn't care about money and I was happy that way. But now I've got a community to help. I'm going to spend every last cent on Cooperville and this district, try and bring it back to it's former glory. It's hat my wife would've wanted."

Abbie smiled, "I'm sure she would be proud."

"Even if money failed me, I know it can save others," he smiled back, "so thank you, Detective Abbie, for helping me realize that."

"It's my pleasure."

They left the homeless camp to inform Ginger of what they had found. Jones rushed over to the bar with the paper while Abbi hung back with Biff and Curtis.

"Ginger," Jones smiled widely, "I'd like to congratulate you on your latest promotion the Blue Flamingo's new manager!"

"Wow, you found it!" Ginger gasped taking the document, "you're amazing! Oh my god, I still can't believe things are turning out so well for me!"

"Not one word, Curtis," Abbie hissed when the man opened his mouth. Curtis snapped it shut.

"Well, it looks like we're all moving up in the world, but I'll be sure to miss you . . ." Ginger sighed, "you know what, I'm tempted to get into trouble just to see you again."

"You deserve all of this, Gin," Jones blushed, "I'm sure you'll do great! And don't worry about Curtis, we'll make sure he doesn't bother you ever again."

Abbie looked at Biff, "ready?"

The bouncer nodded, "go for it."

Biff led Curtis out of the building while Abbie snuck behind the bar. The chef brought out a tray of food, burgers, fries and a small chocolate cake for dessert, and set the plates on a table. While Jones and Ginger wonder what was going on, Abbie mixed up two cosmopolitans while Hunter herded the detective and manager to the table. Jones pulled a seat out for Ginger before sitting down across from her. Abbie brought the drinks over as soft music began to play in the background.

"This evenings entertainment is brought to you by The Lone Roses," Abbie smiled, "please enjoy your date."

"You-! You set this up?! How,  _when!?"_  Jones gapped.

She shrugged, "I can multitask, plus, Biff got the supplies while I distracted you two. The chef was more than happy to supply the food, and the drinks are my speciality."

"For a girl who's never had a drink in her life," Ginger started, taking a skip of her cocktail, "you sure make a mean cosmopolitan. Want to work for me?"

Abbie laughed, "I don't think I'm going to leave my job just yet, but call me if you ever need help."

"But Troy-"

"I can talk to Troy on my own," she cut her partner off, "you two, have fun. Bye!"

Abbie and Hunter ran out of the club as Biff locked the doors behind her and the chef. The three shared a high five before going their separate ways.

"So that's why she took her bike . . ." Jones mutter grabbing a fry.

Ginger hummed, "your partner is sneaky. But your still my favorite detective."

He smirked playfully, "is that all I am to you?"

"I don't know," she teased, "let's see how you make as a boyfriend."

_Back with Abbie . . ._

The Turk hopped off her bike and lifted Hunter out of her bag. She set the dog on the ground and they walked into Troy's garage.

"I think this is yours," she said holding out the blueprints.

"Thanks girl, fame awaits me!" Troy held the plans up in triumphant, "I guarantee you this is going to revolutionize the world . . . of motorbiking."

"Best of luck, Troy," she grinned, "and remember your promise?"

"Yeah girl, I'm a gonna cash in on my second chance at life!" he nodded, "I'm quitting the gang life and I'm outta here. You're lucky: The Vipers will be quiet now that Ash is in control. He's less stupid then Salvador, and less destructive too."

"That'll be good for the district," she placed a hand on her hip.

He looked past her at her bike, "where does your dog go?"

"In my bag," she turned to show him the backpack, "works for now, but when she gets bigger, I'll have no where to put her."

He ponded for a second, "say . . . how would you like to be my first customer?"

"What do you have in mind?"

_The fallowing week . . ._

Abbie sat on her bike while Hunter enjoyed the new sidecar. Troy had custom built it for her bike in a sleek style with a matching paint job. She promised to recommend everyone she could to him and his new garage. His sister was going to help him run the place and Tory couldn't be happier. Jones car pulled up besides here and he climbed out. His surprise date with Ginger had gone well and he hadn't stopped smiling since.

"Got another date coming?" Abbie asked.

He grinned, "next Friday night! She wants to see the new art gallery that just opened up."

"Told you it would work out," she whistled, "come on, Hunter!"

Hunter reluctantly hopped out of her new seat and trotted besides the pair into the station.

"Troy really is a mechanic pro," Jones commented, "you said he built that sidecar in a week?"

"Yup," Abbie confirmed, "he had the parts in his garage."

"Jones, Abbie," Ramirez waved, "Chief King asked to see you."

"Thanks, Ramirez," Jones replied.

They detoured past their office to their boss's. they knocked on the door and King called them inside. The Chief of Police was sitting at his desk with another well-dressed man across from him with his back to them.

"You wanted to see us, Chief?" Abbie asked.

"With Salvador and Marconi out of the picture, this district finally has a chance of picking itself up. You've done a truly remarkable job cleaning up this area, Abbie, which is why I'm promoting you to the Financial Center!" Chief King announced, "and before I forget, there's someone else who would like to congratulate you personal before you leave."

The man turned around as he stood up and Jones's and Abbie's mouths dropped open. It was One-Tooth-Sam! He had ditched his old tracksuit for a freshly press tweed jacket and black dress pants. His hair was styled but her still only had the one tooth in his mouth, proving that he hadn't entirely changed.

"You've given hope to a lot of people here, I'm sure you'll do the same in the next district, Detective Abbie!" Sam congratulated her.

"One-Tooth-Sam!" Jones couldn't help but gape, "wow, you look like a whole different person."

"And I feel like on to!" he laughed, "good luck out there, Abbie, an do stay in touch."

"I promise I will," Abbie smiled pulling the man into a hug.


	16. Blood on the Trading Floor

"Congratulations on your promotion, Abbie! And welcome to the Financial Center," Chief King told his detective, "I'm sure your going to enjoy this district with its great parks, flashy casinos, high end bars, okay maybe not that one, and its billion-dollar trading business!"

"Didn't anybody tell them the economy is in a massive crisis?" Jones snickered.

"Maybe somebody did: there's been a murder at the Stock Exchange Center. And form what I hear, it's pretty barbaric," he informed, "Abbie, show this district what you're made of by catching this killer!"

"Yes, Chief!" Abbie saluted.

Her and Jones hurried over to the Stock Exchange Center to see what they were working with. They road up the high-class elevator to the top floor and entered into the large, high-tech work space. The room had been taped off and they found Nathan standing in the center looking up with his hands on his hips. They looked to where his gaze went and saw that a young man had been hung from the monitor stand and his guts were hanging out.

"I guess it's not only the economy that has been gutted!" Jones joked.

"This is going to be fun," Nathan mumbled trying to figure out how to get the body down.

"Do we have an ID?" Abbie asked looking around.

"The victim's Samuel Rye and worked here as a Stock Trader," Jones informed, "he swiped his ID badge to get in, which means he came here willingly."

"Well, I have a wallet here," she said picking it up, "maybe we'll get lucky and find a lead."

She rifled through the credit cards and bills Samuel had in his wallet for anything. Besides some old receipts, the only thing unusual she found was a blue poker chip.

"What's this? Abbie asked handing it to Jones.

"It's a poker chip from the Greene Casino. Since it was in our victim's wallet, I wonder if he was out gambling last night . . ." Jones pondered, "traders play around with money all day for work . . . and then they play around with money all night for fun!"

"Well, regardless of their jobs or hobbies," she said, "we should at least talk to the manager, maybe they saw him last night?"

"I think her name is Brooke Chase," he recalled, "you good here by yourself, Natey?"

Nathan looked over, "haan, you guys go ahead. It'll take me longer to get him down then my autopsy will."

They left the high-end Stock Exchange and drove across the district to Greene Casinos. The building was huge and elaborate, they past through three slot machine centers just to get to the top floor. The managers office was located in the far back and then knocked on the door. A woman in a blue business suit answered it.

"Brooke Chase?" Abbie asked.

"Yes," the woman answered.

"A certain Samuel Rye was found dead inside the Stock Exchange Center and we believe he was a customer here," Jones informed showing her a picture of the victim, "did you know him?"

"I had never heard of him until last night," Brooke said, "a certain Jack Ryan phoned to make a reservation for himself and Samuel Rye."

"Jack Ryan?" he checked Samuel's files, "our files show that he and Sam worked together."

"Did you happen to see what Jack looked like, ma'am?" Abbie inquired.

"No," Brooke sneered, "but if you ask me, all stock traders look the same: a bunch of psychopaths in nice suits."

"That will be all for now, Brooke," she told the manager. The older woman walked back into her office and closed the door, "well, she seems pleasant."

"I agree, Abs, it seems like Brooke doesn't have much sympathy for stock traders and I don't blame her . . ." Jones grumbled, "at least now we've got a few leads to keep us busy! Want to check out the casino?"

"Now, where would a stock trader bet all him money . . ." she pondered.

Abbie checked the black jack tables and Russian roulette wheels. On the edge of one long table, a note written on a casino card sat addressed to the victim.

"Look at this note: "Sammy, how can you pretend I don't exist after EVERYTHING we went through together!" Abbie read off, "it's not signed though."

Jones hummed, "I bet this "Sammy" is Samuel Rye! We should analyze this note for possible fingerprint signatures."

"Got it," she said fishing into her bag for her dusting kit. She managed to find one good fingerprint on the whole note and she stuck it on the slip for Alex.

"Well done, Abbs," he said, "let's send this to Alex. I'll call Ramirez and get him to track down Jack Ryan on the way."

When they got back to the station, Abbie ran the fingerprint over to the tech lab while Jones brought Jack Ryan into interrogations for questioning. Abbie joined them shortly and they both took a seat across from the stock trader.

"Mr. Ryan, your co-worker Samuel Rye was found dead this morning," Abbie broke the news to the man, "we have a witness who says you and him were at The Greene Casino last night."

"Sam's dead? And your saying I was at the casino with him last night?" Jack asked for clarification, she nodded, "maybe, I don't know."

"You're telling us you don't remember?!" Jones exclaimed.

"Not a thing," he told them, "I mixed my barbiturates with my drink, and from then on, the whole night is one big crazy blur. Sorry, Officers."

"Well, don't go anywhere," Abbie warned the man, "we might have more questions later."

Jack left their interrogations room and Jones and Abbi fallowed shortly afterwards. They stopped in their office to update their suspect list and files.

"He seems suspicious if you asked me," Abbie remarked.

"I agree," Jones said, "let's keep a close eye on him!"

"Keep a close eye on who?" Alex asked.

"A suspect," Abbie said, "what did you find?"

"So, I analyzed the fingerprint you got from the note, and it belongs to a certain Kate Murphy," he checked his tablet, "you two related?"

"Ha, not that I know of," she quipped.

"I pulled her file from the database," he flipped his tablet around, "and surprise: she works at the Greene Casino!"

"Judging form her note, Kate knew the victim well . . ." Jones reasoned, "and wasn't happy with him! Abbie, let's go find out why."

"Hold that through!" Nathan stopped them in their tracks, "I got your results."

"That was fast," Abbie said.

He shrugged, "not to hard to find cause of death, the transport on the other hand . . . I don't want to even think about how messy my van is!"

She cringed, "better get some high-grade cleaner."

"Anyway, the victim was clearly out partying tight before he was murdered, as evident by the high levels of alcohol and barbiturates I found in his system," Nathan looked upsets, "but even numbed by the drugs, Samuel suffered a great deal. He was in so much pain that he broke both arms trying to break free! And talking about his arms . . . I found something odd. There ae traces of dental floss on his wrists. I'm guessing the killer used this before they got some rope."

"Our killer uses dental floss?" Jones deadpanned, "oh great, what a relief to know they take their personal hygiene seriously!"

"I just tell you what I find," he replied, "there's one more thing. The way Samuel was disembowelled? That kind of cut could only be made with an extremely thin, sharp blade . . . such as a samurai sword."

"Cool!" Alex cried, the others looked at him, "ah, I mean it would be cool . . . if it hadn't killed someone . . ."

"Right . . ." Jones rolled his eyes, "well, we better go find Kate, she's probably at the casino."

He and Abbie left their coroner and tech expert and traveled back over to the casino. They found Kate at the front counter, going over yesterdays sales.

"Kate Murphy?" Abbie got the woman attention, "did you know a Samuel Rye?"

"Sam and I used to be in a relationship and it was . . . perfect! I have never been so much in love!" Kate sighed happily, "but Sammy started becoming more interested in money than in me . . . until that was all he was interested in."

"What did you do?" she asked

"I helplessly watched him turn into a soulless stock trader . . . and in the end, he couldn't see any "value" in our relationship so he left . . ." she said sadly, but her expression soon turned thunderous, "he destroyed me! . . . and then he waltzes in here with his creepy friend, Jack Ryan, and pretends I don't even exist!"

"I'm sorry, Kate," Abbie said softly, "we will notify you if we have any more questions."

They left the woman alone and got back into their car to return to the station.

"Wow, it doesn't sound like Kate took the break up with Sam well at all!" Jones mused, "and now we know that on top of not having guts, Sam didn't have a heart!"

"I never got how someone could get so engrossed into trading stocks," Abbie said pulled into the station parking lot.

"Bets me," he replies letting Hunter out of the back.

They entered the station and the receptionist told Abbie that Chief King had requested to see her in his office. Abbie told Jones she'd be back and took Hunter with her to see what the boss wanted.

"Yes Chief?" Abbie asked once in the office.

"Abbie, we've got a situation here! Alden Greene, the owner of the casino, is concerned the case is going to make the news and he's adamant that you solve it before that ever happens!" Chief King tapped a file on his desk, "here's everything you need to know about him: he piratically created the Financial Center and owns a large part of it through his company, Greene Holdings. This man is powerful, and I don't want to get on his bad side. Go talk to him and take Jones with you."

"With pleasure," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He made no comment on her tone, "oh and on last thing, Ramirez wants to talk to you before you leave the office. Good luck out there!"

"Thank you," she smiled. She left his office and walked down the hall to her own. She found Ramirez waiting for her by her desk.

"Ah, there you are, Detective Abbie!" Ramirez said seeing her.

"How many times do I have to tell you," she smirked, "its just Abbie."

"Right," he nodded, "a taxi driver recognized the victim's portrait. Turns out he drove Sam the night of the murder."

"That's great! Where did he take him?"

"The driver dropped him off in front of the disused Gecko Street Station," he replied, "apparently Sam was talking about an underground party."

"I wouldn't be surprised if the traders used that station for their parties," Abbie thought, "in fact, I bet this was the party Jack Ryan was talking about! Thanks, Ramirez, you did a great job."

"It was nothing," he blushed modestly.

Abbie and Hunter hurried out of the station, grabbing Jones along the way and brought him up to speed on what they had learned so far. They went over to the street station to tape it off before another party could happen and started looking for evidence.

"How much did they drink?!" Jones questioned seeing all the empty bear bottles, "I mean look at this box of empty bottles, it's not going to be fun searching through it . . ."

"Didn't Nathan say the victim had ingested a high dose of barbiturates?" Abie asked picking up an orange prescription bottle.

"He did," he confirmed, "maybe that bottle could be of interest to us. If you can decipher the barcode to trace the owner."

"I can," she said. She looked at the numbers and wrote down what she found, as Jones rummaged through the boxes of beer bottles. As Abbie finished writing the numbers down Jones pulled out a gold pendant.

"There's definitely blood on this pendant," he announced showing her.

"It's a Zodiac pendant," she remarked, "and Samuel wasn't a Sagittarius. He was a Capricorn."

"How do you know that?" he asked surprised.

She shrugged, "I hold a PhD in both astronomy and astrology."

"But your only 28!"

"I took a special program and did both of my degrees at the same time," she explained bagging the pendant, "I used to want to some day open my own observatory."

"What made you change your mind?" he inquired.

She shrugged, "my want to give people justice prevailed. Maybe I'll open that observatory when I retire."

"So, does that mean I have to call you Doc now?"

"No, just stick with Abbie or detective."

"Naw!" Jones smirked, "Doc suits you!"

Abbie just rolled her eyes.

They dropped their clues off at the station, then drove over to Green Holdings headquarters located in the center of the district. Once they were past security, they road the private elevator up to the top floor and were show into Alden Greene's private office.

"Detective Abbie, it's nice to finally meet you. I've read all about your cases in the paper and how you cleaned up the Industrial Area!" Alden shook her hand, "I've been told that the Greene Casino is now part of your investigation. And if my casino is in the spotlight, so am I, which is very bad for business . . . this is why I've put my casino at your full disposition. I'm sure you can appreciate that I would like to keep this whole affaire discreet, Detective."

"Believe me, sir," Abbie ground out, "I understand perfectly."

They left Greene Holdings headquarters and drove over to the casino to re-search the lounge space. Abbie stopped he car and started to get out, but stopped when Jones grabbed her wrist.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Fine, why wouldn't I be?" she asked.

"Well, when we we're talking to Greene, you looked like you wanted to rip his head off!" he admitted.

She sighed, "it's nothing . . ."

"really?" he raised an eye brow.

"Well . . . to be truthful, he reminds me of my father."

"Your father? I don't think you've mentioned him before, or your mother for that matter."

"With good reason," Abbie glared out the window, "my father is a worker at a global corporation, it has businesses all over the world and because his position was so high up, he traveled a lot, sometimes we went with him sometimes not. He always came back, but he still could never seem to have the time for his own family . . ."

"I'm sorry," Jones rested his hand on her shoulder.

She shrugged it off, "don't be, I hate him, he hates me. That's all there is to it. He wouldn't even care if I landed in the hospital and was dying! Unless he had to pay the bills that it."

"Jeez . . ." he blinked fallowing her inside.

They checked out the casino lounge where Samuel Rye had been seen playing poker at. Abbie saw that there was a surveillance camera hooked to the celling, and Jones barrowed a ladder and screwdriver to get it down. While he did that, she saw that there was an antic samurai armor on a mannequin in the corner of the room. The sheath was empty of it sword so she decided to examine it.

"We should get Alex to process this footage and see if Samuel Rye shows pops up on camera at all," Jones said climbing down the ladder.

"And have Grace analyze this substance," Abbie added finding some white stuff inside the carveries, "Nathan did say the murder weapon could possibly be a samurai sword. And there's no sword in this sheath."

"The killer may have stolen the sword from here!" he declared.

They rushed the samples over to the labs and got the results for their last batch of evidence.

"The prescription bottle you found in the disused station is for barbiturates and according to he chemist, it belongs to a Harry Krane," Alex told them hooking he camera up to his computer, "I did a search on the name, and I also learnt that Harry's a stock trader who worked with Sam."

"And so, they were both at the party together!" Jones smirked, "Abbie, you ready to go question him?"

"I'll ask Ramirez to call him in," Abbie answered. Once that was done they went over to see what Grace had for them.

"I've managed to deduce that the zodiac pendant you found in the station is from your killer," Grace said taking the next sample, "the killer got the victim's blood on their pendant when they sliced Samuel open! And this creeps me out . . . but your killer returned to the party afterwards, which is where they lost the pendant."

"But that means that we now know that our killer is a Sagittarius!" Abbie said.

"That you PhDs talking, Doc?" Jones smirked.

She punched his shoulder, "knock it off, will you?"

"You have a PhD?" Grace asked startled.

"Two, actually, Astronomy and Astrology," Abbie affirmed, "but please don't start referring to me as Doc like this knuckle head."

She chuckled, "don't worry, I wont."

"Thanks," she breathed, "let's go talk to Harry."

Jones and Abbie left the lab and walked down the hallway to their interrogation room. Ramirez had brought Harry Krane in for them, and the blond stock trader was sitting calmly in his chair as if it were his own office.

"Harry Krane, we are sorry to inform you about the death of your co-worker Samuel Rye," Abbie told him.

"Sam is dead?" Harry smiled, "I guess the wonder kid is no longer so wonderful."

"I thought you would be saddened by the news," Jones looked suspicious of the man, "not only you work together, you also partied together."

"look, I am sad. Really," he insisted, "but he was competition, so obviously there's a part of me that's kind of happy to see Sam's gone."

"Well congratulations, you've just beaten the competition to becoming our number on suspect!" he growled showing Harry the door. The man left the room with his head held high seeming unfazed by the events that just took place.

"I think Kate is the only one who got effected by Sam's death," Abbie sighed.

Jones nodded, "jeez, how come stock traders are so creepy? She was right, they come across as soulless."

"Soulless or not, they are still people," she reminded, "and people deserve justice."

"Your right, let's go see what Alex and Grace found."

They checked in with Alex first.

"It was hard to identify any recognizable faces because casino cameras are designed to monitor people's hands . . ." Alex lectured them, "however, there was one instance where I got a clean shot of Sam being yelled at by the casino manager, Brooke Chase."

"Guess she left that part out," Abbie frowned.

"And you haven't heard the worst part yet," he leaned back in his chair, "she was also holding a samurai sword in her hands!"

"A SAMURAI SWORD!!!" Jones shouted, Abbie covered her ears, "Doc, looks like Brooke has more then a little explaining to do!"

"And you need to turn down your volume button," she teased.

"Should hear him when he's watching a football game," Grace laughed entering the tech lab.

"Do you have the results from that substance?" Abbie asked as Jones pouted.

"I ran a few tests on that substance from the samurai sheath," she explained, "and by studying its chemical composition, I was able to determine that the substance is face cream."

"So, our killer uses face cream."

"Great! First dental floss now this!" Jones threw his hands up, "it's a shame our killer doesn't take their sanity as seriously as their hygiene!"

"Well, evidence is evidence," Abbie shrugged, "not much we can do about what it is."

"Fine," he grumbled, "let's just hope our chat with Brooke gives us some help."

They left the station and drove over to the casino. They walked up to the manger office door and knocked. Brooke called them inside and they entered. The manger was busy flossing her teeth at her desk.

"I hope you don't mind me flossing my teeth while I talk to you," Brooke said pulling the string away for a second, "I'm a very busy woman and my time is limited."

"Charming . . ." Jones rolled his eyes, "and as busy as you may be, it seems you still found the time to threaten Samuel Rye with a samurai sword!"

"With a samurai sword?! Please, Detectives, it was just an umbrella!" she insisted, "it was very unprofessional of me, but Samuel was drunk and acting like an animal. He pushed me to far and I snapped . . ."

"Umbrella or not, you still fought with the victim," Abbie reminded her, "we will leave you to your work, but were not done with you or the casino just yet."

They left Brooke's office and made their way over to the elevator. Jones pushed the down button and they waited for the car to come up.

"I don't know if Brooke is telling us the truth but at least we now know she uses dental floss . . ." Jones began, "that, combined with her distaste for stock traders . . . it makes her a serious suspect, don't you think?"

"The evidence is against her," Abbie noted, "but its still to early to make an arrest."

"This case is on big idle! Nothing adds up . . . but I refuse to believe this killer is smarter then you, Abbie!" he vowed as they got into the elevator, "I guess the stock exchange center needs to open up for business so we should probably hurry up and finish our work there."

Abbie's cellphone rang and she picked it up, "Murphy."

"Det- I mean Abbie!" Ramirez coughed himself, "I've just arrested Kate Murphy for breaking into Gecko Street Station and she's asking to speak with you."

"Thanks Ramirez, we'll be he shortly," she thanked hanging up the phone, "better make the stock exchange trip quick, we have a casino worker to interview."

They rushed over to the Stock Exchange Center and entered the crime scene area. Abbie looked around dealing room where the body had been hung up. She found a smartphone on the ground just under where Samuel had hung and just off to the side of it was a torn-up contract.

"Well done, Doc! I think this could be the victim's smartphone," Jones suggested, "do you think you could unlock it for us?"

"No problem," Abbie said getting her laptop out, she hooked the smartphone up to it and got it unlocked in a second. She then looked for her tap and pieced together the destroyed contract. She handed the phone to Jones for him to give to Alex. She them looked over the contract.

"Well, it's an unsigned contact between Samuel Rye and . . ." she looked for the client's name, "Alden Greene?! According to this, Sam was on the verge of signing Greene as his client!"

"This is huge!" Jones exclaimed, "Alden said he wanted to see us because of his casino. Bullshit! He just wanted to keep track of the case to protect himself!"

"I take it you'd like to have another chat with him?" Abbie guessed.

"You bet your cookies I am," he growled.

They drove over to Greene Holdings headquarters and demanded to see Alden. After showing their badges, security let them in and they banged on the CEO's door. The cigar smoking man opened it promptly and unshed them inside.

"Mr. Greene, we would have apricated you telling us that you were planning on going into business with Samuel Rye," Jones clipped.

"I apologize for not telling you, but these kinds of deals need to stay secret, otherwise I could risk losing big money," Alden said grabbing a new cigar, "I needed a new stock trader to manage my money, and it was between Harry Krane, Samuel Rye, and Jack Ryan. In the end, I went for Sam as he was by far the best. We were going to sign the contract today . . . but obviously things didn't go according to plan with Sam."

"How anlayışsız of him," Abbie said under her breath, then louder, "that's all we needed to know, sir."

They left Alden's office and road the elevator down to the lobby. They exited the building and got in their car to go see what Kate wanted.

"Sam getting that contract . . ." Jones looked irritated, "sounds like the kind of thing stock traders could kill for."

"It's the kind of thing people obsessed with money do kill for," Abbie told him.

He looked at his younger partner, "did your father ever . . ."

"Not that I know of," she glared telling him to drop the subject, "but he would do anything to get what he wanted, he didn't care who he hurt in the process."

"Man . . . not a man I want to met . . ."

They got back to the station and went to see what Kate had been doing at one of their crime scenes.

"Kate," Abbie said sitting across from the woman, "why did you break into Gecko Street Station?"

"Okay, I'll confess! I sell barbiturates to the stock traders during their parties. I was scared you'd find me out, so went back to the station to cover my tracks," Kate bawled, "it was the last time, I promise! It's just that I really need the extra money. I want to stop working for the casino, I can't stand it any longer!"

"Is it really that bad?" Jones asked, "what's Brooke Chase like as a boss?"

"She's a complete hygiene freak!" she huffed, "she forces s to floss ever hour, and we have to use the same face cream as her."

"Sounds like someone I know," Abbie rolled her eyes, "we wont charge you with the breaking in Kate, you didn't destroy anything nor did you steal anything. But don't let's use catch you for this again, next time we won't be so lenient."

"I promise," Kate sower, "thank you officers."

She left the room with the detectives who sent her on her way. They updated her and Brooke's profiles with the dental floss and face cream.

"Abbie, I'm sure you noticed that Kate has a Sagittarius broach on her vest, didn't you?" Jones asked.

"I did," Abbie nodded adding that to the casino worker's profile, "and even though she promises not to do it again, I have a nagging feeling she wasn't telling us the whole truth."

"Hm, I agree," he nodded, "let's go back to the subway, see if she left us any clues . . ."

"Or if our killer did . . ."

They hurried over to the taped off subway station where the party had been held. Abbie checked around the waiting chairs and found a note pad with the most recent entry page ripped off.

"Someone tore out the page form this notepad," Abbie said seeing faded imprints on the next page, "but it seems some of the words are visible on the next page."

"I don't even thing YOU could find out what it says," Jones sighed defeated.

"Don't be so sure about that . . ." she smirked digging into her bag. She puled out her carbon powder and fiberglass brush, "I have a few tricks up my sleeves."

"I don't know if it'll work but are you willing to try out a new forensics skill?" he asked.

"100%," she answered. She dipped the brush into the black powder and dusted it across the paper. The carbon power settled into the imprints and she lightly blew across the paper to removed the excess powder.

"Check this out," Abbie read the note, "bet 10,000 dollars at Stock Exchange." Signed Sam and Harry," this could mean that they both went to the Stock Exchange Center last night."

"Don't tell me Harry might have killed Sam . . . all because of this stupid bet?!" Jones yelled.

"Only one way to find out," she told him, "all have Ramirez call him back in."

They got back to the station just as Harry pulled up in his car. They escorted him inside and into their interrogation room. Abbie dropped the notepad on the desk in front of him to see.

"You think we would leave a wild party for a meaningless bet?!" Harry scoffed, "you've got no clue how we stock traders work."

"Oh, trust me," Abbie crossed her arms, "I think I understand better then you do. What was the bet for anyway?"

"It was work related . . ." he said looking at Jones, "I'm sorry, but you've got a seed stuck in your teeth. Why don't I give you some floss for it?"

"You little . . ." Jones glared at the ignorant man, "keep this up and you're the one who will be stuck, behind bars!"

Jones decided to let the man sit in the interrogation room for a while before they let him go, just to see if he would change his attitude for them. Ramirez stopped them on their way to Alex's lab for the smartphone results.

"Abbie, I've got the information you asked for concerning which suspects use face cream," Ramirez informed her, "and it turns out all your suspects use face cream except for Alden Greene."

"Thanks Ramirez," Abbie smiled.

"So, where does that leave us?" Jones asked as they continued to make their way to the tech lab.

"With a lot of clean skinned suspects," she joked.

He laughed as they entered the lab. Alex looked up form his game and shrugged the older man's comical mode.

"What did you find?" Abbie asked.

"Man, these smartphones are really smart! The victim's phone has an app on it which takes a picture any time someone tries to hack into the phone," Alex bubbled, "turns out your killer punched in the wrong code and got their picture taken . . . sadly, the picture was taken at an odd angle so it only got you killer's tie."

"That's good," Jones nodded, "say, did it take a picture of Abbie?"

"No, unlike your killer, she succeeded in hacking it," he grinned, "I also retrieved a SMS that Sam sent to Jack Ryan. It reads: "I can't keep covering for you! Either you come clean or I will but I refuse to get fired because of you!"

"No wonder Jack wasn't sad to hear about Sam's death!" he cried, "well, Abbie, how about we go question Jack? Give him a reason to be sad."

"I'll call him in," Abbie said getting her phone out.

When Jack came into the station, they sat him in their spare interrogation room since Harry was still in their main one. Jones slid a print out of the SMS in front of him to see.

"Okay Jack, the games up!" Jones informed him, "we know that Sam was threatening to stop covering for you!"

"I had a bad day, lost a few million dollars, Sam found out and I asked him to keep it a secret until I won it back. It's no big deal," Jack said smoothly, "I don't get it though, Harry and I were both meant to be super lucky that day, like the horoscope said . . ."

"Oh yeah," Abbie pretend to look interested, "and what star sing are you both?"

"Sagittarius, obviously: like all the other powerful men in the world," Jack purred, "and you?"

"None of your bees' wax," she smirked.

Jack looked shocked at being tuned down. He scrolled and pushed his chair back. He got up and left the room.

"Jack lost a few million in a day . . . and doesn't even seem to care?!" Jones hit his hand on the table, "what's wrong with these stock traders?!"

"I've never been able to figure it out," she replied.

They left the interrogation room and went back to their office. They were surprised to find Brooke Chase waiting for them looking distressed. And holding something long wrapped in plastic in her hands

"Detective Abbie, thank god you're here!!!" Brooked wailed shoving the packaged into her hands, "when I opened the casino up this evening, I noticed blood dripping from the samurai . . . and that's when I noticed the samurai sword was back in its place . . . but now it's covered in blood!"

"The killer returned the murder weapon!?!" Jones exclaimed looking at the item in Abbie's hands, "wow, they're definitely cocky enough to think they'll never get caught!"

Abbie laid the sword on her desk and unwrapped it from its packaging. The blood was still fresh and had puddle in some spots on the plastic. She examined the hilt of the sword and found small hair fragments stuck inside of the metal. She pulled the out with some tweezers and bagged them for Grace to analyze.

"Great!" Jones breath relived, "let's prove your smarter then this killer by getting those hairs analyzed.

_One hair sample analysis later . . ._

"From what I hear, you're very close to solving this case. Now, about those hairs you found on the samurai sword?" Grace checked her notes, "well, it belongs to the killer. I calculated the natural damage and decomposition pf the hair's follicles to determine the age . . . and thanks to that, we now know that your killer is 30 years old."

"Thanks, Grace," Jones thanked her, "this is it, Abbie, I think we're ready to go and put our killer behind bars."

"And he's already waiting for us," Abbie smirked getting her cuffs out.

They want back to their primary interrogation room, where Harr Krane was still waiting for them.

"Harry Krane, you're under arrest for the gruesome murder of Samuel Rye," Abbie informed the stock trader while cuffing his writs.

"Huh, what a surprise!" Harry admitted, "you're actually not as dumb as you look."

"Ah traders, as charming as every . . ." Jones said sarcastically, "you lot think you can get away with anything, don't you?"

"Because we ARE smarter than the rest, but I guess even we make mistakes. Like Sam sis when he bragged about his deal with Alden Greene . . ." he shook his head, "so I got Sam high and took him out for one last night out. To celebrate."

"What I don't get is how no one saw you at the casino?" Abbie said but she did already have an idea of how he had done it.

"They all saw my face, I just gave them the wrong name: Jack Ryan," he grinned, "I knew Jack would be too drunk to remember what he did that night."

Jones looked disgusted, "I'll never get how people can talk about committing such gruesome crimes with smiles on their faces . . ."

_In the Court Room . . ._

"Harry Krane, for your despicable crime, the Court hereby sentences you to life imprisonment with no chance of parole," Judge Hall delivered her verdict.

"It's a shame you're arresting me so soon," Harry sighed, "I had something beautiful planed for Alden Greene."

"Uh . . ." Jones groaned, "I don't think your sense of "beautiful" is the same as ours."

"You can say that again," Abbie whispered.

Th guards escorted the crazed stock trader out of the room to transport to the prison. The rest of the crowed dismissed themselves and Abbie and Jones regrouped outside the Court House.

"That was intense! And if this is a taste of what's to come, I hope I'll be able to take it!" Jones worried, "still, I doubt everybody in this district is a raging psychopath . . . right?"

"Hopefully not," Abbie prayed, "but we'll just have to wait and see."

"On the other hand, with and awesome detective like you, it won't be long before they're all behind bars!" he slung and around her shoulder and led her off to go celebrate.

_The next day . . ._

"I'm so impressed you solved yet another case, Abbie!" Ramirez congratulated her, "Mrs. Chase, Ms. Murphy and Mr. Ryan all want to talk with you now that they've seen first-hand your awesome detective skills!"

"Look how popular you are, Abbie," Jones teased, "well, which one do you want to talk to first?"

"Let's go see Kate," she decided.

"Actually," Ramirez said, "Ms. Murphy and Mr. Ryan are both in the station right now, I'll bring them up."

"Thanks," she said.

Ramirez left the office and returned shortly with the casino worker and stock trader in tow. Abbie sat Kate down by her desk and took her seat behind it while Jones sat Jack at his and did the same.

"Of, Detective Abbie, I didn't know who else to turn to: I'm in such deep trouble!" Kate complained, "I've lost my key to the casino and if ever Mrs. Chase finds out, I'm as good as dead!"

"Don't worry, Kate," Abbie reassured her, "I'll help you find it. Do you have any idea where you might have lost it?"

"Oh, thank you!!!" she breathed think about it, "I'm pretty sure I lost the key on the platforms of Gecko Street station . . ."

Kate left the office looking much more relived then when she had come in. mean while Jack was tapping his foot impatiently from sitting there.

"Something awful has happened, Detective! I've lost my club card!" Jack cried once she came over.

"Why not just get another one?" Abbie asked not seeing a problem.

"I'd buy another one if I could, but I can't: it's an extremely rare gold-plated edition," he said as if it were obvious.

"When it comes to murder you're as cool as a cucumber," Jones looked confused, "but when it comes to a stupid card, then you freak out?!"

"I've heard you're the best at what you do, Detective Abbie, so I'm willing to pay accordingly," Jack said patting his wallet.

"I don't need your money, Jack," Abbie said coldly, "I take any challenge that come my way."

They left the station and decided to check in with Brooke Chase before the searched for the missing casino key and club card. They found Brook pacing the top floor of the casino when they got there.

"What is the problem, Mrs. Chase?" Abbie asked.

"Because the killer stole the samurai sword form here, I checked to see if anything else was missing," Brooke explained waving her hand around the room, "and that's when I noticed that there was Samuel's blood on the Samurai!"

Jones looked at the samurai, "but that's impossible: Samuel wasn't even killed here!"

"I so want that to be true," she sighed, "please, Detective Abbie, can you confirm it isn't blood on the Samurai?"

"Don't worry ma'am," Abbie got her tools out, "I'll get right on it!"

Her and Jones walked over to the Samurai armor and inspected the helmet. They were shock to find that there appeared to be dried blood on it, caked on in some spots. Abbie scrapped off a sample of the blood being carful on to damage the armor.

"Good work, now let's send this blood sample to the lab," Jones held open the bag for his partner, "see if it really does belong to Sam."

"Let's stop by the Stock Exchange Center on the way."

When they got to the murder scene, they looked around for Jack's club card. Abbie checked the knocked over trash bin and found pieces of plastic with in the mess.

"It looks like someone broke the card," Abbie said picking up the pieces.

"Good, Jack deserves it!" Jones spat, she gave him a look, "oh, alright: you're a better person then I am, Doc! An you fix the card for him then?"

She checked to make sure she had grabbed all of the broken plastic before cradling them in her hands. She glued the sharp pieces of plastic back together until she had the repaired black and gold card.

"Fixed!" she waved the card in the air.

"No wonder you don't mind repairing broken objects, it only takes you a few seconds!" Jones laughed looking at the card, "there's no name on the card?! Which genius made these! Ugh, come on, please let's just forget about it . . ."

"Alright, you can tell Jack that his gold-plated edition club card which he can't replace is gone."

"Fine, you win, Abbie! Let's just see if you can recover these missing numbers."

Abbie smirked in triumphant and got to work. Most of the numbers were still visible, so she said the out loud to Jones who wrote them down on a sicky note. They stuck it to the card once they had all the numbers and shipped it off to Alex to find out if it was Jack's or not along with the blood for Grace.

Once that was done, they drove over to the underground subway station to look for Kate's missing casino key. The place was still a mess from the party the other night, and Abbie picked up a garbage bag to search through.

"Good job," Jones praised, "and since you found the garbage bag, YOU get to search through it!"

"I guess I deserve that one . . ." Abbie mumbled with a smile.

She opened the bag and dumped out the contents. Luckily there wasn't much inside so it wasn't hard to find a shiny sliver key with in the mess. She picked it up and looked it over.

"Nicely done! It's definitely a key . . . but is it Kate's key?" Jones wondered, "we've got a database off all the casino keys. If we compare the key you found to them, we'll be able to determine if it really comes from there."

"Is it on my laptop?" Abbie asked.

He nodded, "with a new district comes a new challenge, are you ready for it?"

"Let's go," she said taking her laptop out. She sat down on the bench with it on her lap and found the program for comparing databases with evidence. She uploaded a scan of the key and found the right database to work with. In a few short seconds, she had the results done and tagged the key.

"Great work, Abbie!" Jones beamed, "now that we know it's Kate's key, how about we go give it back to her?"

"Al-"

*** BEEP! BEEP! ***

Abbie looked at her laptop and saw that she was getting a request for a video chat. She closed the database program and opened the video chat feed. Alex and Grace popped up on her screen and she waved.

"Hey guys," Abbie said, "do you have something for us?"

Grace went first, "the blood you tool from the Samurai helmet isn't from the victim-"

Jones hurried around the bench, "don't tell me here's another murder that needs investigating!"

"Relax," she laughed, "I don't even think Abbie could solve this murder . . . because it happened 500 years ago when the Samurai died!"

"Ha, very funny Grace," he dragged a hand down his face, "what about you, Alex?"

"The club card belongs to Jack Ryan," Alex confirmed, "he'll be happy to get it back, people are prepared to pay millions for a membership!"

"Ugh, paying a million dollars . . . just to be part of some club?!" he groaned, "Jack could do with a wake-up call. Speaking of calls, can you get Ramirez to call both Kate and Jack to the station?"

"Can do!"

Abbie got an idea, "say Alex . . . wee you able to find out what the club was called?"

"Yeah, it's some high-class resort spa and casino, Imperial Oasis, its international with buildings in over 50 countries, its mostly stock traders, millionaires and CEO who are members," he informed, "why?"

She grumbled, "I knew that was the same logo. . ."

Alex and Grace looked at Jones for clarification. He just shrugged and signed off the video chat call. Abbie pack her bag and hurried out of the subway station. She got into the car, Hunter hopped in the back and Jones fallowed behind.

"Why are you so upset?" he asked.

"I'm not upset, just angry," she growled.

"Want to talk?" he tried.

She sighed, "Imperial Oasis. . . it's the resort where my father would spend most of his time at outside of work. Its been over three years since I've had anything to do with him. Now, I know there's one of those buildings in this city . . . and members of this community go to it! Its just a glorified money pit!"

"Hey," he said, "look, I know it must be hard for you, but think about it. Odds of your father coming to this city to go to this one resort when there are many others, must be small, am I right?"

"Yes . . ." she took a deep breath, "your right, he never does like small, unknown places, so why would he start now?"

"That's the spirit!" he grinned, "now let's go see Mrs. Chase."

Abbie navigated the car to the casino and parked in an empty stop a few feet from the door. They went inside and up to the third floor and knocked on Brooke's office door. She opened it quickly.

"Mrs. Chase, there was indeed blood on the Samurai helmet," Abbie told her, "but it belongs to the Samurai."

"Oh my god, to Samuel Rye?!" Brooked cried.

"No, to the Samurai," Jones pronounced the word clearly.

"Oh," she tried not o look embarrassed, "what wonderful news! It'll make the exhibit much more valuable! Thank you, Detective Abbie."

"It was no problem," Abbie assured.

"Your welcome in my casino anytime," she promised them, personally seeing them to the elevator.

They got back into their car and went back to the police station. When they entered their office, they found Kate waiting for them as she talked with Ramirez.

"I think this is yours," Abbie said holding out the key.

"Oh, thank you for finding my key, you're so amazing!" Kate complimented, "I don't know what I'd do with out you."

"It's our pleasure, Kate," Jones blushed, "now you take care of yourself, you hear?"

She nodded, "I will don't you worry, and thanks again!"

Kate left the office and Jones and Abbie headed down the hallway to their interrogation room where Ramirez had put Jack for them.

"Challenge completed!" Jones announced slapping the card on the desk, "though how you could spend so much money on a card is beyond me."

"Whatever," Jack tucked the card into his wallet, "you obviously don't appreciate the expensive things. Here, why don't you go treat yourselves to something nice?"

He slapped a wad of bills on the desk and left before either of the detective could say anything. Abbie picked up the money and a quick count told her there was almost five hundred dollars in it.

"Well, what do you want to do with this?" she asked waving the bills.

"Donate it to charity?" he suggested.

"Good idea, she agreed.


	17. Bomb Alert on Grimsborough

Abbie threw the ball for Hunter and watched as her dog ran after it. Her and Jones hand stopped in the Cooper park for their lunch and the male detective hand gone to get them some food. The female detective stayed behind and played with the police dog. As Hunter came back with the ball in her mouth, Jones walked over with two hot-dogs in each hand.

"Aah, it's the perfect day to have lunch in the park, don't you think, Abbie?" he said breathing in the fresh air, "here, I grabbed you a hot-dog, it's a veg-"

**KABOOM!!!**

"HOLY COW!!! What the hell was that?!" Jones yelled dropping the food.

Abbie brushed some soot off her arms, "sounded like an explosion on the other side of the park."

"Quick, let's go!" he said already running to the scene.

They got their and saw that a man's bloody body lay sprawled in front of the statue of W. Cooper. A woman ran up to met them on the path.

"OH MY GOD!" she yelled, "please! Somebody help!"

"Your alright ma'am? What happened?!" Jones asked.

"The- there- something exploded!" she cried, "and two men were fighting, and one of them just- just-"

"You stay right here and call 911!" he ordered.

"Jones," Abbie said.

"Yes?"

"We are 911!"

He blinked, "right, call them and say that Detective Jones and Abbie are on the scene of a possible bombing and to notify Chief King. He'll know what to do."

Once the woman had gotten her phone out, jones turned to fallow Abbie onto the messy scene. Their victim's body was in pieces with both his legs blown off. They found each a few yards off from the body and Abbi also found a shoeprint leading away from the scene and a torn card under the bench.

"What the hell happened here?" Jones wondered, "this poor guy all looks like he stepped on a land mine . . . he's all over the place!"

"Hopefully there's enough of him left for Nathan to tell us WHAT blew him up," Abbie hoped.

They heard sirens in the distance and saw three cop cars, an ambulance, a black SUV and the GPB ME van. The crowed stopped at the entrance to the park and Chief King hopped out of the SUV and rushed over.

"Was anyone hurt?!" he demanded.

"Hurt, no, killed yes," Abbie answered pointing to the body.

He sighed and turned to the group, "Nathan! Your needed!"

They watched the coroner get out of the van and throw the back doors open. The rest of the cops worked to secure the area and escorted the people inside out. Nathan wheeled his gurney and body bag over to them.

He blinked at the body, "I have to piece him together?"

"There's a leg over there and his foot's over here," Abbie pointed them out for him as she taped the card back up.

"We should get out eye witnesses deposition," Jones said looking for her.

"I got a name!" she yelled, "Henry Crosby."

Chief King took it to read, "it's a veteran's card. Considering his age, he probably fought in Vietnam. Coming back home alive, only to get killed by a bomb years later."

"Does it say an emergency contact?"

"Shaun Crosby. Must be Henry's son."

"We better call him into the station," Jones said grabbing his phone, "what about that shoeprint?"

Abbie dropped her bag on the ground and dug out her portable scanner. She hooked it up to her laptop and scanned in an image of the shoeprint. She compared parts of it to their database and found the shoe which belonged to it.

"The shoeprint belongs to . . ." Abbie read the results, "an orthopedic shoe?"

"Well, Henry isn't wearing any," Nathan said picking up the right foot.

"Which means that out killer wears orthopedic shoes," she deduced writing it to for later.

"Now to talk to our witness," Jones reminded.

They left their Chief and coroner to finish loading the body and secure the scene. The woman who had reported the explosion to them was sitting at a park bench near the entrance.

"Miss, we're going to need you to describe everything you saw before the explosion," Jones explained to her, "don't omit any detail."

"Well, like I told you, two men were fighting . . . and then everything exploded!" she said shaking, "when I got up, the first was running away, and the other . . . the other . . ."

"The other was found in bits and pieces," he finished for her.

"Did you see anything that could help us identify the other man?" Abbie asked.

"Everything happened so fast, but . . ." she thought about it, "yes! I'm positive he was wearing something with a camo pattern!"

"That's good," she smiled, "but we may need to talk to you again later on. Where can we find you?"

"I work at Greene Banking, on Main Street, just ask for Harriet Meadows at the front desk," Harriet told them.

They allowed the woman to leave and they walked to their car.

"So, Mrs. Meadows works for Alden Greene . . . you know, after we met him in our last case, I brushed up on what's known about the man," Jones reported, "his main company, Greene Holdings, sprawls over the enter district. There's his casino, this bank, and about half a dozen other sub-companies."

"Someone has been busy," Abbie commented.

"And something tells me this isn't the last time we'll bump into him or his employees . . ." he mused as the car pulled into the station.

They headed upstairs to their office floor where Ramirez told them that Shaun had been put into interrogations for them already. They entered the room and found a young man dressed in army camo sitting at the table.

"Mr. Crosby," Jones sat across from the man, "your father was killed by an explosion. We don't know what exactly happened yet, but w-"

"An explosion?!" Shaun interjected, "we've been bombed?! How- where are the others? Do we need reinforcements?!"

"Mr. Crosby, are you alright?" Abbie asked concerned, "I know this is shocking news, nut we really need your help. Do you know anything about your father that could be useful?"

"Of . . . of course," he took a few deep breaths, "my father bought a shop in Eastfield Market after the war. He wanted some peace and quiet, ha!"

"Did he spend a lot of time there?" she inquired.

Shaun nodded, "he spent most of his time there, and I helped out as much as I could. You can search his stall if you need to."

"Thank you, Shaun," Abbie smiled, "you've been a great help, we will contact you if we find out more."

Shaun nodded his thanks to her and got up and left. The detectives watched the solider march out of the room with a slight limp in his steps but still held his head high and proud.

"Whoa, Shaun completely freaked out when I mentioned the explosion," Jones looked worried, "looks like Post Traumatic Syndrome to me, don't you agree?"

"I grew up hearing PTSD, but I think your right," Abbie agreed, "are you ready to go check out Henry's stall?"

"After you," he opened the door.

They drove over to the Eastfield Market which laid within the boarder of the Financial Center and the Historical Center. The market place had around thirty stalls year-round and another dozen or so that came out in the summer. They found the stall which had belonged to Henry, a fruit and vegetable stand, and searched the area. Abbie walked behind the counter and saw a satchel underneath the counter top. She pulled it out and dropped it onto the wooden surface.

"This satchel must be our victim's," Abbie said looking at the lock.

"Of course, there's a combination lock," Jones complained, "I'll let you handle this, Abbie."

She grabbed the lock and spun the dials of numbers and letters around until she found the right ones. She pushed the realise button and the lock clicked open. She flited the flap and they found the satchel to be full of documents.

"Good job as usual," Jones said, "now let's see what Crosby kept in his satchel."

They started to pull out the documents from the satchel and spread them out along the counter. There were papers for his home and the stall but what really surprised the detectives was the large file folder with the Greene Holdings logo stamped on the cover. Abbie flipped through the papers and saw that they were mostly financial documents.

"These are a bunch of financial documents from Greene Holding," Abbie told him.

"I didn't think we'd hear about Alden Greene again so soon," Jones remarked.

She read some of the main paragraphs, "the documents show that he's trying to buy the Eastfield Market stalls . . . I bet he just wants to build a new casino or some other money pit business."

"Hello?" a woman in a black suit holding a microphone with a cameraman behind her walked up to them, "sorry to bother you, I'm looking for Henry Crosby. We were supposed to meet here like half an hour ago. Are you friends of his?"

"No," Abbie replied, "we are investigating his murder."

"Mr. Crosby contacted me for an interview, he said he had information about Greene Holding," the woman shocked, "and now you're telling me he's dead?!"

Jones grabbed the documents, "I suppose he was talking about these documents we just found, but they're a piece of evidence now. We can't let you have them, sorry Miss."

"Are you sure? I could help you with your investigation," the woman pulled out a business card from her pocket, "look, here is my number. Call me when you're ready to exchange those documents against my help."

"I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you, Miss," he said but still took the card, "but we'll keep your number, just in case."

The reporter smirked in satisfaction and led her cameraman away. Jones handed Abbie the documents to keep in her bag while he grabbed the satchel with the rest of the papers.

"Something tells me Henry was up to something," Abbie pondered, "and it had to do with Greene Holding."

Jones nodded in agreement, "we should ask his son if he knows anything about it."

"Isn't that him over there?" she asked pointing down the path.

Sure enough, Shaun was walking down the pathway towards his father's stall. He didn't seem surprised to see the detectives there, so he greeted them with a slight nod of his head.

"Shaun," Abbie stopped the man, "do you know what your father had against Greene Holding?"

"Greene Holding? There involved in my father's death? These greedy bastards! I told him contacting the media wouldn't be enough!" Shaun belted, "most of the people here took loans with Greene Holding because of the crisis. But when they refused Greene's buyout, the bank started raising their interests like crazy!"

"What was your father planning on doing?" she asked.

"My father was a naive man. He thought he could expose them, and look what happened to him . . ." he sighed, "I'm sorry, I must go. I've got some arrangements to make."

"Of course," she told him.

The three-people left in separate directions from the stall. Jones and Abbie went back to the station to see what Nathan had found out. The coroner was putting his tools away when they got there and waved a scalpel in greeting.

"Thanks for the puzzle guys," he deadpanned, "it's the first time I get a bomb victim on my table."

"So, it  _was_  a bomb!" Jones looked shocked.

"Unmistakably," he confirmed, "unfortunately, the metal fragments I found in the victim's torso aren't enough to determine the bomb's type."

"But you must have found something," Abbie prompted.

He chuckled, "the only thing I' sure of is that your killer must be suffering for partial deafness right now, as well as anybody standing less than 30 feet away from the explosion."

"And anyone over thirty feet away is suffering from ringing ears," she joked rubbing her ears.

"Did you two get check out?" he asked.

Jones and Abbie shared a look, "maybe?"

Nathan sighed, "up on the tables."

The detective knew better then to argue with him, so they both climbed up onto the third table while he the doctor got his tools. Abbie lifted Hunter up with her and set the dog by her side. Nathan retuned with a light, stethoscope, otoscope, and a reflex hammer. He examined Jones first and found nothing wrong with him, the same went for Abbie and Hunter.

"Why do you have a stethoscope?" Abbie asked.

"Because Jones has this hatred for hospitals and doctors, I have to examine him when he refuses to go," Nathan answered checking Hunter's ears.

"Ha, ha," Jones laughed sarcastically, "I just help keep your skills in good condition."

Nathan rolled his eyes and hit the detective in the head with the reflex hammer on his way by. Jones whined and rubbed the spot while Abbie laughed at the two.

"Well, we've got quite the puzzle on our hands," Jones remarked still massaging his head, "and I'm not talking about the victim!"

"Don't remind me," Nathan said putting his tools away, "it took me almost an hour just to sew him back together."

He cringed, "but if there's a wacko going around leaving bombs, we need to get organized. Ill go talk to King about this!"

_A few hours later . . ._

Abbie rolled the ball down the office floor for Hunter to chase after. The dog brought it back and they repeated the game while Jones checked his phone for updates.

"Pff," he scoffed, "it's been hours and still nothing! If Henry's killer intends to detonate another bomb, they sure are tak-"

"GUYS!" Ramirez yelled as he ran into the room, "we've got a situation! I received an anonymous phone call about an imminent bomb attack on Main Street!"

"Be careful what you wish for, I guess!" Jones yelped, "Abbie, let's go, now!"

She nodded and grabbed the keys. They sped off with their light and sirens going passing cars and trucks on the road. They slammed to a stop just outside Main Street and rushed out of the car. Abbie told Hunter to try and find the bomb and bark when she did.

"Oh my god . . ." Jones choked looking around, "if a bomb explodes here, with all these offices . . . it'll be a  _massacre!"_

"We have officers evacuating people from the back entrances," Abbie informed, "they also blocked off the street access."

"Abbie, we need to find that bomb, and we need to find it  _now_!" he ordered.

Hunter barked from next to a parked taxi. Abbie caustically walked over and crouched down. Underneath the cab of the vehicle was a white box with wires sticking out of it. She slid it out slowly and looked at the count down. It read 3 seconds.

"Jones!" she called over.

"Yes?" he asked nervously.

"Three seconds!" she yelled back.

He paled and ran for cover, she and the dog hurried after him and they both leapt behind a hot-dog cart for cover. They waited for the explosion but it never came. Abbie silently counted to twenty but when no explosion happened, she peaked around the cart and saw that the panel was flashing ERROR at them.

"It's a dud," she breathed.

"We're alive!!!" he cheered, "the bomb didn't blow up! Hahahah! For a second there I really thought this was the end!"

Abbie got out from behind the cart with Hunter, "but our bomber just made their biggest mistake. Let's send this bomb to Alex, I'm sure he'll be able to tell us exactly who built it."

She went to go pick up the package when something on the hot-dog cart caught her eye. It was an old picture hiding behind the ketchup bottle, and it was of two young men, one of whom appeared to be their victim. She picked it up and saw that something had once been written on it.

"And since we're still alive," Abbie said taking the picture, "we might want to have a closer look at this picture."

Jones took a look at it, "hey, that's Henry on it! But who's the other man next to him? Think your powder trick could find something?"

"One way to find out," she answered getting it ready. She dusted the front side of the picture and reviled that some one had labelled both the men and underneath them wrote, "Remember 19 January, 1975." Wonder what that could mean?"

"Don't know," Jones shrugged," but the man standing next to Henry was called Donald."

"Maybe the owner of the hot-dog cart knows more?" she offered nodding to the cart.

"You found this picture on Alfred's hot-dog cart?" he asked, "that's doesn't make any sense. As far as I know, Alfred's been blind since birth!"

"A blind hot-dog vendor," she said, "impressive."

"On, and while we're here, let's have a chat with Mrs. Meadows," he suggested, "Henry clearly had a beef with Greene Banking; she may know more about it."

"I'll radio for someone to find her."

While she called that in and find someone to talk the bomb safely to Alex, Jones went to the officers and told them it was safe for the people to return. When he came back, he was guiding an older man with blacked out glasses to his partner.

"Alfred? This is my new partner Detective Abbie," Jones motioned for Abbie to shake the man's hand, "Abbie, meet the man who makes the best hot-dog in all of Grimsborough!"

"Aw Jones, you're gonna make me blush!" Alfred laughed, "so, what brings you back here so soon?"

"Well . . ." he sighed, "Alfred, we found a picture of Henry Crosby on your stall. Did you know him?"

 _"Did_  I know him? Are you- are you telling me Henry's dead?!" he asked, "I knew something was wrong the last time we talked, he sounded so agitated . . ."

"The picture shows him with a man named Donald," Abbie described, "does it ring any bells?"

"No, sorry," Alfred shook his head, "Henry just gave me the photo and told me to hold on to it. He mentioned some "ghost from the war" . . . and he left . . ."

"I'm sorry about your friend, Alfred," Jones said sympathetically, "if there's anything we can do, don't hesitate to ask."

Alfred smiled sadly and went back to work at his cart. Jones and Abbie walked down the street to where Harriet Meadows was waiting to speak with them.

"I wonder if he gave Alfred this photo as a trail to fallow," Jones pondered, "that "Donald" might have played a role in his death."

"Unfortunately, we can't risk wasting time," Abbie reminded, "there may be other bombs, and we cannot risk more deaths."

They stopped at the end of the street in front of Harriet Meadows who was still looking a little pale from almost being involved in another bombing in less then a day.

"Harriet," Abbie greeted the woman, "we didn't ask the last time, but did you know a Henry Crosby?"

"Henry Crosby . . ." Harriet hummed in concentration, "oh yes, I knew him! His son tried to smash our bank's windows with a garbage can once!"

"Shaun Crosby did that?" Jones asked, she nodded, "uh . . . I guess he didn't take the pressure you were putting on his father too well after all . . ."

"Hey, business is tough for everyone these days! You can't just behave like that because you struggle!" she defended, "Greene Holding's offer to the Eastfield Market stall owners was very generous! There are important projects regarding this area that can't be put on hold because of stubborn people!"

"Or the "important project" could just be terminated because the Market is better then another casino," Abbie glared, "not everything can be solved by money, Mrs. Meadows."

Harriet huffed, "you just don't know the value of money, or what it can do."

"I know very well what money is capable of," she resorted. The banker threw her a dirty look as she left the detective to get back to work.

"Mrs. Meadows doesn't seem to have any feelings left . . ." Jones commented, "I guess that's what banking does to a person."

"No, that's what money does to a person," Abbie informed, "but Shaun attacking the bank seems unlike he."

"But even so, attacking the bank is a little extreme," he countered, "do you think Shaun might have gone even farther? He sounded pretty angry."

"Got any ideas on how to find out?"

He thought about it, "c'mon, let's go have another look at Henry's stall. Shaun said he helped out with the shop; he may have left something there."

They got back into their car and drove over to the Eastfield Market stalls. They went behind Henry's and Abbie kneeled down to get a better look under the counter. In the far back hidden by a support beam, was a torn-up letter. She collected the pieces and dropped them on the counter before straitening up.

"It looks like someone tore up a letter," Abbie said spreading the pieces out.

"Think you could piece it back together, Abbie?" Jones asked. She nodded and got her tape out. The letter had been ripped up fairly well so it took a second to find where each piece fit together. When she finally found out how it went, she taped it all up and flattened it onto the counter.

"It's a letter alright!" Abbie whistled reading it, "Leave Eastfield Market alone you greedy scum, or I will blow you all up!"

"That's rather explicit!" Jones said puzzled, "but it' not something I would have expected from our victim. We should ask Alex if he can find clues about the writer's identity."

"And see what our bomb reviled," she added.

_About an hour later . . ._

"Are you finished examining the bomb and note?" Abbie asked as she and Jones entered the tech lab.

"Yean, and no wonder your bomb didn't blow up. It was meant not to!" Alex told them, "your bomber is playing with you. If you had tried to disarm the bomb . . . well, let's just say you guys wouldn't be in much better shape than Henry."

". . ." Jones, Abbie and even Hunter looked fearful.

"Anyway, this is stellar work," he tried to cheer them up, "whoever built this bomber knows what they're doing. Your killer is definitely an explosives expert."

"An explosives expert . . ." Jones looked to be in deep concentration, "well, Shaun's army records show he worked in the bomb squad, so he definitely matches the profile. Do you think this might all have been a tragic accident? Maybe his father tried to stop him?"

"The only way we'll find out, is to gather more evidence." Abbie said placing her hand on her hip.

"And speaking of, the letter you sent," Alex chimed in, "as you rightly guessed, there were no fingerprints. So, I compared the handwriting with Henry's and Shaun's . . . and let's just say that Shaun should have used newspaper clippings instead."

"So, Shaun wrote this letter!" Jones smirked, "great, now we've got something to make him spill the beans!"

"Back to Eastfield Market," Abbie said.

When they got their, Shaun was talking to the landlord of the market place. They were finishing up their conversation and shook hands before parting ways. Shaun walked over to the detectives and Abbie pulled out the letter.

"Shaun," she said, "were you really planning to bomb Greene Banking?"

"I came back form the war having to wear those blasted orthopedic shoes and got partially deaf from an explosion, and you're saying I'm a terrorist?!" Shaun demanded red-faced. "I  _fought_  terrorists!"

"We are not saying that about you," she assured.

"Easy, Shaun," Jones stepped in front of his partner, "we got a testimony saying you attacked Greene Baking, and a letter of threats! How do you explain this?"

"I didn't send the letter, did I?" Shaun countered, "and the bank had it coming. I barely remember doing it anyway. I just . . . snapped. But I would never hurt my own father!"

"I'm sorry," he said taking out his cuffs, "but we'll have to put you under arrest until we're sure you're not a threat, Shaun. We can't take any chances."

They brought Shaun back to the station and booked him into a holding cell until further notice. Then the detectives went back to the scene of their second bomb to see what they could find. Most of the GPD cops were still milling around on the look out for any suspicious activity or for the possible bomber.

"Well, I'm out of ideas, Abbie," Jones admitted nervously, "there may be another bomb in the city right now, but I've got no clue where to look!"

"Abbie!" Ramirez called walking up to the two, "I was wondering, what kind of person are you looking for again?"

"Ramirez," he rolled his eyes, "we've briefed everyone about this. Our suspect wears a camo outfit and orthopedic shoes."

"Ah!" he pointed across the street, "so like that man over there, right?"

". . ." Jones blink at the man Ramirez pointed out, he fit their profile perfectly, "HEY, YOU! Grimsborough Police, don't move!"

"Is there a problem, officers?" the man asked walking across the street to them, "I'm just taking a walk . . ."

"In an area sealed off by the whole police department?" Abbie asked raising an eyebrow.

"Wait a minute . . ." Jones got a better look at the man, "you're the guy on the picture! Your Donald!"

"Donald Byrd to be precise . . ." Donald replied, "did Henry give you that picture? That's not very nice of him, we were such goo friends."

"Henry died this morning, actually" he told him, "from a bomb blast."

"Oh my. How perfectly tragic . . ." he laughed, "but at least he went out with a bang, right? Right?"

"Are you sure you two were friends?" he questioned the manic man.

"Oh, we were friends . . . a long time ago," he waved it off, "water under the bridge, that sort of thing. Well, I'll be on my way now!"

They watched Donald practically skip way from them before they could stop him. Jones and Abbie shared a look of weirded out and concern.

"I bet you anything this creep and Henry's "ghost form the war" are related!" Jones decided, "Ramirez was right, too, Byrd's wearing orthopedic shoes."

"Abbie, Jones!" Ramirez ran up to them again, "I just got a call from the Station, they got another call from the bomber!"

"What did he say?" Abbie inquired.

He gulped, "he said . . . "Next bomb's for real, but you'll have to find it on your own this time."

"Dammit!" Jones cursed, "we need new leads, and quick. Abbie, I think it's time for us to take that journalist up on her offer!"

"I'll call her," Abbie said getting her phone out. Her and Rachel had a quick conversation and settled to meet up on Second Street in five minutes. Jones and her hurried over and only had to wait a few seconds for Rachel and her cameraman to come around the corner.

"Miss Priest, this is off-the-record," Jones told her, "we would appreciate if your cameraman could stop filming, please."

"Oh, alright," Rachel dropped her mic, "Carl, go take a walk, okay?"

The cameraman, Carl, lowered his camera and turned back around the corner leaving the three alone to talk.

"Can you find out anything about this man?" Abbie asked showing her a copy of Donald and Henry's picture, "his name is Donald Byrd."

"So. If you want info on the guy in this picture," Rachel said taking it, "you'll have to give me more than his name."

"We know Crosby was a Vietnam veteran," Jones added, "so if you have any contact in the military . . . do that for us, and I'll give you a copy of Crosby's documents."

"You got yourself a deal!" she grinned, "I'll get back to you as soon as possible!"

Rachel rushed off to find Carl and Jones and Abbie got back into their car.

"Let's hope Rachel can find something useful," Jones grumbled, "in the meantime, we must figure out our next move."

The radio crackled and Ramirez's voice came through, "Abbie, I've got some bad news . . . again . . ."

"All this bad knew is going to get me depressed," Abbie rested her chin on her hand.

"Shaun Crosby is on the loose, he escaped our watch!" he informed.

"WHAT?!" both Jones and Abbie cried. Hunter barked along with them.

"This is a disaster!" Jones exclaimed, "now we have two lunatics running freely, and no clue on the bomb's location!"

"If its in this district, maybe we can narrow it down to certain locations," Abbie reasoned, "ah, that'll take for ever, got any better ideas?"

"Let's go back to the crime scene," Jones said, "it was such a mess, we might have missed something."

They drove off to the taped off park and ducked under the yellow police tape at the entrance. They walked along the path and reached the statue of W. Cooper. Abbie checked the beach near the statue and found a ripped piece of camo fabric stuck on one of the bolts. She removed it and saw that it was tinted red with blood.

"Good job, Doc, this fabric must belong to our killer!" Jones praised, "let's collect a sample to send to Grace."

"On it," Abbie nodded getting her tools out.

"Well, if these aren't my two favorite cops!" Donald laughed walking up to him.

"Oh, come on, not him again!" Jones complained.

"Did you have something you wanted to tell us?" Abbie asked pulling some blood drops form the fabric.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch what you said?" Donald cupped his ear.

"Detective Abbie asked if you had anything you wanted to tell us, Byrd!" Jones yelled.

"Oh no, I was just enjoying the fresh air and I thought I'd say hello," he breathed in the air, "I just love autumn. Such an . . . explosion of colours!"

"And this is why you bothered us?" he demanded shocked, "you've got to be kidding me!"

"You should relax, Detective," Donald tisked, "you're all wound up like a clock! Tick-tock, tick-tock . . ."

"That's _It!"_  Jones spat, "I've had enough of you. Maybe a few hours behind bars will dampen your mood!"

Jones snapped his cuffs onto the manic man's wrists and lead him to his car. Abbie and Hunter fallowed behind with the blood sample for Grace in her hand. The American detective guided Donald into the back seat while the Canadian detective got into the driver's seat with the K9-dog.

They drove back to the police station and Jones went to book Donald into a holding cell while Abbie ran the blood sample over to Grace's lab. They met up in their office once they were done.

"Byrd's half-deaf and 100% nuts, if you ask me," Jones grumbled, "at least now he won't be able to cause trouble."

"Sounds like my talk with Grace went better," Abbie chuckled.

"Moving on," he rolled his eyes, "y'know what they say about blind people?  _Their_  hearing is top-notch, unlike our killer's. we should go see Alfred again. He may have heard something useful."

"Great idea," she agreed.

They hurried back the Main Street which was still blocked off by cops but some citizens were allowed inside the boundaries to get their things. Alfred was turning off his grills and propane tanks on his cart and locking up the cupboards.

"Alfred, it's Jones and Abbie again," Jones told the man as they came up to him, "we need you to remember everything that happened in the last few days . . ."

"Now that you mention it . . ." Alfred turned slightly, "I've been hearing something odd over the past 3 days. A car making a very particular noise, like its transmission is about to break. The strangest thing is, Henry got all weird and worried at the very same time this car began to show. . ."

"Do you know if its hear?" Abbie asked.

"I think it must be parked on the street," Alfred waved his hand in the direction behind him, "'cause I always hear its engine stop nearby and start a few hours later. And I haven't heard it leave yet today!"

"The car right behind us?" Jones looked at the parked taxi, "dammit, it's been under our noses all along!"

"All call in an evac!" Abbie said hitting the speed dial number.

"No more time to waste," he said rushing across the street with her behind, "Abbie, take cover, I'm kicking the car's trunk open!"

Abbie ordered Alfred to get behind his cart while yelling at everyone else she could see to get inside and as far away from the street as possible. Jones reached the taxi car and braced himself and kicked it hard. The trunk door flew open and Abbie ran over to get a look.

"There," she breathed pointing to the package in the center.

" _Holy shit_ , we found the bomb!" he cursed, "and this one  _will_  blow! What do we do?!"

"I have an intuition," she said grabbing the bomb's control panel.

"What do you mean, you have an intuition?!" he cried freaking out.

Abbie punched in the first set of numbers, "just trust me!"

"WAIT!" he grabbed her arm, "if you get the bomb's code wrong, the whole block will be blown to oblivion!"

"At least this way I can die trying!" she yelled punching in the last sets of numbers.

The bomb continued to beep and she jabbed her finger on the red button enter button. It beeped a few more times before the count down disappeared and the screen flashed the word disarmed over and over in red lights. Jones and Abbie collapsed to the ground panting in relief.

"You did it!" Jones breathed hugging his partner, "how did you know-"

"Jones!" King yelled as he rushed over to the embracing detectives, "what's the situation?"

"The bomb has been deactivated!" he laughed, "I don't know how Abbie pulled this off, it was incredible!"

"Congratulation, Detective, the city owes you one," he grinned helping them up.

"Can I cash in on a vacation to Paris?" Abbie asked picking Hunter up and hugging the dog close.

King chuckled, "we'll talk about it later. But you still have to catch whoever planted this bomb!"

"Here's hopping Grace has something for us," she said fallowing the Chief back to the cars.

The squad car and black SUV drove together back to the police station. Chief King remained in the lobby while Jones and Abbie hurried up the stairs to see Grace. They burst into the lab panting their request for the results.

"Thank good your alright!" Grace exclaimed, "Alex told me what happened."

"Another time, pant, Grace!" Abbie wheezed, "blood!"

"Right," she nodded, "I tested the blood from the fabric, and you were right, this didn't come form your victim."

"So, pant, since we know Henry's, pant, killer was wearing camo . . ." Jones breathed.

"That you killer's blood type is O+," Grace told them, "yes! And here."

She tossed them each a bottle of water and poured another into a dog dish for Hunter. They spent a few minutes to regain their breathing before going back down to their office.

"I'm glad we found that bomb in time . . ." Jones grinned, "but how did you know the date on that picture was the bomb's code?"

Abbie shrugged, "lucky guess."

"A . . . lucky guess?" he repeated, "you mean you weren't sure? . . . I think I'm going to faint."

"Officers!" Rachel exclaimed running into the room, "we need to talk, right now! You won't believe what I dug up on your suspect!"

"What did you find?" Abbie asked.

"I've been able to get Donald Byrd's military dossier!" she answered, "the guy just got out of a mental institute, and he's extremely dangerous! Take a look at this!"

She shoved a thick file folder into Jones's arms and he opened it to the first paper. Abbie glanced over his shoulder to get a better look at it.

"Let's see . . ." Jones skimmed the paper, "Court martialed on the 19/01/1975 for war crimes committed in Vietnam . . . Henry Crosby testified against him?!"

"They served together," Abbie deduced, "and take a look at this: Byrd was in the bomb squad."

"There's no doubt that he's an expert in explosives!" he agreed, "Rachel, thanks so much for your help!"

"And where's your end of the deal?" Rachel asked.

"Later," Jones promised, "right now, we have a killer to arrest!"

"To Ramirez!" Abbie said leading the way.

They ran to the holding cells where Ramirez was on guard duty. They each skidded to a stop in front of the desk, grabbing it to stop themselves from falling.

"Ramirez!" Abbie greeted the man, "we need Donald Byrd! He's our bomber!"

Ramirez looked nervous, "well . . . you see . . . he kinda, sorta . . . got away?"

". . ." Jones's eyes open wide, "Ramirez, what do you mean Byrd got away?!"

"I . . . I only looked away for a second, to get the key to the cell, and . . ." he waved to the empty cell, "but he- he was singing a song about the park before he escaped. Maybe that's where he went?"

"You'd better be right, Ramirez," he groaned, "Abbie, let's go arrest that freak before he can kill again!"

"Ramirez!" Abbie yelled back as they ran for the exit, "call King and tell him what's happened, we're gonna need reinforcements!"

"I will!" Ramirez promised grabbing his radio.

Jones and Abbie ran for their car and turned the lights and siren on as Jones slammed his foot on the gas and took off down the road. They reached the park in record time and he barely had time to stop the car before Abbie jumped out and ran for the entrance. He chased after his partner, both drawing their guns as they sprinted to the center of the park.

"BYRD, FREEZE!" Jones ordered the man standing in front of the W. Cooper statue, "its over! You're under arrest for murder and terrorism attempt!"

"I get to say when its over!" Donald bellowed throwing off his jacket, he had strapped a bomb to his chest and held the detonator in his hand, "I'd rather die than go back to that nuthouse, and I'll take you all with me!"

"Not if I kill you first, you son of a bitch!" Shaun yelled running onto the scene.

"Aw, that's cute!" he laughed, "but you won't have the balls to do it, just like your father!"

"SHAUN! Get out of here!" Abbie begged keeping her gun trained on the suicidal man, "he's not worth it!"

"See you in hell, bitches!" Donald laughed manically as he pushed the button.

"EVERYBODY DOWN!!!" Jones ordered.

What happened next seemed to happen in a millisecond. Shaun tackled Jones to the ground as the bomb blew, insistently vaporising Donald in its blast. Abbie, who was closest, shielded her eyes with her arms as an ear splitting  **KABOOM!**  Rang through the air. Once the shock wave from the blast had gone away, Shaun got off Jones and helped him into the sitting position.

"Thanks," Jones panted looking at where Donald had last stood, now only a gruesome mark on the ground and statue remained, "come on, Abbie,  _pant_ , there is nothing more we can do here . . ."

"Ahh . . . detective Jones?" Shaun gasped, "your- your-!"

He couldn't finish the sentence and just pointed to what was making him stutter. Jones fallowed his finger and took in a sharp breath. Abbie had been thrown from her spot into one of the large oak trees by the blast force. Her clothes had been ripped in places where the shrapnel hit her, and crimson blood trickled down from her fingertips and the edge of her hijab. She laid limp against the tree trunk with her eyes closed.

"No . . ." Jones choked dragging himself to his partner. He collapsed next to her and check for a pulse through her hijab, "she's alive, someone call an ambulance!"

"There's . . . there's no one, sir," Shaun reported limping over to the two.

He whipped his head around, "there has to be!  _Dammit!_  The one time I leave my phone in the office! C'mon Doc, stay with me!"

She groaned, "J-Jon-!"

"Hey, easy there partner!" he whispered, "help will be coming. I promise."

Hunter barked. The dog had been safely away from the blast and was now barking up a storm. Jones looked over and saw that Chief King was running up the path, some officers trailing behind him.

"Chief!" Jones yelled, "we need an ambulance!"

King saw the stat of his detective and barked to one of the officers behind him to call on in. He then hurried over to the two and kneeled down.

"What happened?!" he demanded helping Jones to lay Abbie on the ground.

"Donald blew himself up," Jones explained, "Abbie was to close to the blast."

"Abbie," King asked, "can you hear me?"

"A-!" Abbie chocked and coughed, "Alab?"

"I'm here," he answered, "we have an ambulance coming, what hurts?"

"Everything," she whined, "head, Alab. Head hurts."

"Alright," he heard the sirens in the distance, "the ambulance if here, they'll fix your head."

"Tired," she mumbled, "gonna . . . sleep now, Alab."

"Hey," King squeezed her hand, "I haven't given you permission to sleep, detective."

"Sorry," Abbie cracked a weak smile, "don't go, Alab."

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised as he watched his detective go limp and oblivious to the rest of the world. The paramedics came down the path way shortly afterwards with their gurney and gear. They lifted Abbie onto the gurney and wheeled her to the ambulance, King and Jones flowed behind it to the hospital where the Muslim detective was rushed into surgery.

_One week later . . ._

*BEEP! . . .*BEEP! . . .*BEEP! . . . *BEEP! . . .*

Abbie groaned listening to the annoying beeping by her head. She had been listening to it for what felt like years! She figured it was her alarm clock, but it didn't beep this much, even when she forgot to turn it off. A shuffling noise on her right alerted her to someone being in her bedroom. But she couldn't be in her bedroom, her bead wasn't this stiff and her room didn't smell like Iodoform. She moved her head and faintly heard someone calling out to her.

"Ab . . . bi . . . e . . . Abb . . . ie . . . Abbie?" it was a man's voice.

She groaned again in the back of her throat and tried to open her eyes. It took a few attempts but she managed to blink them open. And promptly shut them, the bright florescent light burned her eyes. She shut them and listened to the man move around her room. He came back to her bed side and told her it was alright now. She reopened her eyes and found the room with the light off and soft sunlight spilling in through the partly opened window blinds.

"W-!" she croaked. Abbie felt her bed get lifted into a slightly raised position and a cup of water was pressed to her lips. The water was cool, but not freezing and the liquid soothed her throat as it went down. She drained the cup and it was pulled away, an oxygen mask was placed over her face and she hadn't realized she had been wearing one.

Looking around the darkened room she saw that she was in a private hospital room. The infernal beeping had been coming for a heart monitor machine. She was hooked up to that, an oxygen tank and an IV drip. She looked down at herself and saw that she was dressed in a hospital gown and bandages. The white gauze wrapped around her arms and she could fell some on her torso and legs, Hunter sat at her feet watching her. She turned to her right and saw that Chief King was sitting by her bed side in civilian clothes. It was odd seeing the man not wearing his normal suit.

"Alab?" Abbie asked, "wha-?"

"Easy," King told her, "you've been out for almost a week."

"A," she coughed, "week?"

He nodded, "what do you remember?"

"Ah, we were in the park," she concentrated, "we we're going to arrest Donald Byrd . . . but, he blew up, before we could."

"Good, your memory is intact," he sighed, "the doctors were worried about that."

"Jones?" she asked.

"He's fine, worried and running himself ragged, but fine," he smiled, "you had us all worried."

"Sorry," she apologized.

"Don't be," he said picking something off her table, it was a handmade card, "Avi and Ramirez's girls made you some cards."

She took the card and knew it was from Avi. The writing was legible and all over the place, with all kinds of drawings in the free spaces. She saw that there were at least ten more cards, some handmade others store bought, on the table along with a lotus flower floating in a glass bowl of water.

"How did you know lotuses were my favorite?" Abbie asked.

King blink, "lucky guess? Nathan got it from the greenhouse. And I wanted to tell you how proud I am about how you handle that rollercoaster of a case. You kept your cool and avoided a disaster.

She looked around, "doesn't feel like I did . . ."

He squeezed her hand, "I'll go get the doctor, and tell the others your awake. Do you want me to tell them to wait before coming?"

"No," she shook her head, "I could use some friendly faces right now."

"Alright," he said standing, "I'll be back."

Chief King left the room and a few minutes later, a doctor and nurse entered the room. They checked her vital signs and bandages and saw that her stiches had already healed. They removed the gauze and braces and said they would be back later to check on her. King came in after the doctor and nurse left and retook his seat. About a half hour later, the rest of the team started to arrive. Frist, it was Jones and Ginger with a stuffed teddy bear for her, the Grace and Alex came in together. Nathan brought Avi in to see her and the kid was vibration as he asked her questions, she just chuckled and answered them the best she could. Ramirez came in with his wife and three girls, Lucia who was 10, Mariposa who was 8 and Itzel who was 6. The girls were adorable but they didn't stay long before Valentina and Ginger took all four of the kids home leaving the team to talk.

"How bad is it?" Abbie asked once the kids were gone and the door was shut.

Jones sighed, "the doctors wouldn't tell us, since were not listed as next of kin."

"But looking at your chart," Nathan said picking it up and skimming it, "they managed to remove all the shrapnel that was logged in your body, you're lucky you thought to cover your eyes. But it says here they think you might have a possibility of a neurological disorder."

"Like what?" Abbie asked.

He shrugged, "no idea, it doesn't say."

"Don't worry," Grace laid her hand on the other woman's shoulder, "I'm sure it's nothing."

"I hope not," she sighed, "when can I get out?"

"The doctors will want to keep you here for another week," King answered.

She groaned, "I hate hospitals . . ."

"Maybe we can convince them to let you out on a trip?" Alex suggested.

"Yeah!" Ramirez agreed, "like, let you walk around for a few hours!"

"That would be-" Abbie stopped suddenly.

"Abbie?" Jones asked.

She didn't answer. Her body went as stiff as a board and her pupils widened as she kept her eyes trained on the ceiling with a blank look on her face. The male detective tried to get her attention, but his partner made no response to his attempts.

"We need help in here!" Nathan yelled out the door for a doctor. A couple doctors and nurses rushed into the room and pushed the rest of the team out. The officers waited out side as they listened to their team mate struggle to breath. After what felt like an eternity, they medical professionals came out.

"She had a blackout," the doctor told them.

"Oh, so now we can know how she's doing?!" Jones barked.

King sent him a waring glare, "do you know what caused it doctor?"

"We reviewed the brain scans we took after her surgery," she explained, "it appears that the shrapnel that was in her head, managed to reach her brain. We had removed everything but the damage was already done. We have been unable to find the cause of her episodes, but unit we deem her stabilized, we will be keeping her here under surveillance."

"Thank you, doctor," he said. the doctor nodded and left.

The team entered the room again and saw that Abbie was lying fast asleep on the bed, her eyes closed and the heart monitor beeping in a steady pace, and Hunter had curled up into her side. Each team member took a minute to say bye to her before leaving the room. Jones chose to stay with her for a while in case she woke up again.

"Don't worry, partner," he whispered, "we'll get through this. You're not alone."

_A few days later . . ._

"I'll be fine, doctor!" Abbie insisted, "just a few hours, that's all!"

"Well . . ." she checked her charts, "as long as someone is with you at all times, I suppose it'll be alright. But only for a few hours, and someone has to be with you at all times."

"Promise," she grinned.

The doctor left the room to get her a wheelchair. She sent a text to Jones to come pick her up and bring some change of clothes. The doctor left the wheelchair by her bed and removed the IV, oxygen mas and catheter for her. About a half hour later, Jones and Ginger came into her room, the club manager carrying a bag in her hand.

"Want some help?" Ginger asked.

"Please," Abbie said. The blonde nodded and drew the curtain to give them some privacy. Ginger helped the detective out of the hospital gown and into her normal clothes. She had grabbed a pair of Abbie's exercise clothes, a pair white pants and kimono purple tunic along with a pair of slip on shoes and her cleaned hijab. once she was dressed, Jones helped her into the wheelchair and wheeled her out of the hospital.

"So, where do you want to go?" Jones asked wheeling her across the parking lot.

"Got any work for me?" Abbie asked back.

"Work?!" he exclaimed, "don't you want to relax?"

"I am relaxing," she replied, "and if I'm doing work, then it'll distract me form the pain."

"Well . . ." he couldn't argue with her logic, "I guess we could check up on Shaun. He just lost his father and considering how unstable he is, it might not be a bad idea. And I've been meaning to visit Alfred, he did lose one of his oldest friends. And Rachel has been calling for you all week, so we better see what she wants."

"Sounds good to me," she grinned.

Once they got her, the wheelchair and Hunter in the car, they dropped Ginger off at the Blue Flamingo then drove up to the Grim News building. Thankfully, like most places in the Financial Center, the building had an elevator for them to use. Rachel was working at one of the desks and looked up when the elevator dinged.

"Detective Abbie, I'm glad you came!" she beamed, "I- what happened to you?!"

"Just a little accident," Abbie waved it off, "what did you need, Rachel?"

She regained her composer, "I'm sure there is a story behind Byrd's actions. I want to get to the bottom of this, but I need your help. Byrd must have kept his documents in his car trunk, but it's now considered Police property and I can't access it . . . but you can. Can't you Detective Abbie?"

"We could . . ." Jones leaned on the wheelchair, "but what would be in it for us? The case is closed."

"I will share any relevant information with you," she promised, "I'm telling you, this story is hiding something bigger!"

"Alright," Abbie agreed, "we'll help you."

They left the Grim News building and Jones drove over to the Police impound lot where Byrd's taxi was being stored until it was deemed clean. Jones wheeled Abbie to the correct car and popped the car trunk. She leaned in and grabbed a gray shoe box from the trunk to look through.

"Still good instincts as always!" Jones grinned, "if Rachel wants info about Byrd, this box is probably where we'll find some."

"I think she might be on to something," Abbie admitted, "I mean, he  _did_  place two bombs right outside Greene Banking."

He hummed, "did Byrd have a beef with them?"

"Only one way to find out," she said taking the lid off the box. There were wrinkled bills, small trinket's and uncased checks inside. Underneath all of that was a small, sliver USB key.

"A USB key, of course!" Jones smacked his head, "let's send it to the lab. I want to check what's on it before we give it to Rachel."

They dropped the USB key off with Alex before heading to the now opened Main Street to find Alfred. The hot-dog vendor was working his cart getting ready for a supper rush. Jones brought Abbie over while Hunter lead the way through the small crowd of people.

"Hi Alfred. It's Jones and Abbie again," Jones called putting the breaks on Abbie's wheelchair, "we wanted to see how you were holding up."

"Oh, I'll be okay. Got to solider on, that's what Henry would have said!" Alfred reminisced, "but while you're here, could you help me out? I want to create a new hot-dog in Henry's memory, but I'm lacking a bunch of ingredients."

"Sure," Abbie said, "what do you need?"

"I need an onion, one can of beans and a bunch of tomatoes," he rattled off, "oh! Silly me, I almost forgot the most important ingredient: Henry was very found of chili peppers."

"Oh, I love peppers!" Jones announced, "come on, Doc, there a little produce shop just around the corner."

He unlocked the breaks and wheeled the chair down the sidewalk. He turned at the corner and they found the small shop easily. There was no one inside at the time so they quickly found what the needed, Jones not believing Abbie when she picked up the peppers, and paid for the food. They reattend to the hot-dog cart and Abbie passed the ingredients to Alfred.

"Here you go, Alfred," she told him, "everything you need for you hot-dog!"

"Great!" he grinned, "and for your troubles . . . how would you like a burger, On the house?"

She giggled, "sorry, but I don't think the hospital has cleared me for that just yet."

"A . . . burger?" Jones looked confused, "but I thought we would- never mind. Thanks Alfred!"

Alfred whipped Jones up one of his specialty hamburgers and even threw in a side of fries. Abbie played with Hunter the best she could while he ate and chatted with the blind man.

"So . . ." Alfred looked in Abbie's direction, "how did you end up in the hospital?"

"I may or may not have been in a bombing accident," Abbie replied, "I'll be fine though, the doctors say I'll be discharged in a couple days."

"A bombing? You must mean the one Donald Byrd did, one of my regulars read it to me from the paper," he explained.

"That's the one," she said picking Hunter up.

"Well, come back anytime you want," he told her, "I might even have something made in honor of you."

"I'll come back as soon as I can," she promised as Jones wheeled her away.

He loaded her back into the car and put the wheel chair in the trunk. He started the engine and pulled out on to the road. Hunter sat curled up on the floor at Abbie's feet standing guard.

"I never asked, but how come your so willing to help people?" Jones asked, "were cops, not the lost and found patrol."

"I do it because there are people out their who don't trust cops," Abbie told him, "they think all cops are bad and don't want to help. When I joined the force, I set out to not only find justice for victims, but to prove to people that not all cops are bad. And if I have to find something like a lost hamster to prove it, I will!"

He gave her a side glance, "makes sense, now, let's go see Shaun. He's been spending almost all his time in the park."

He pulled onto the road to the park and stopped the car just outside of the entrance. He got the wheelchair out of the trunk and unfolded it. He helped Abbie get into it and Hunter lead the way into the park. Abbie saw that the area had been cleaned up and there were famines out playing and enjoying the last of the warm weather. But no one went near the statue of W. Cooper. They found Shaun sitting on the park bench nearest to where his father had died and he had almost been killed.

"Hello, Shaun," Abbie smiled as they walked/rolled up to the young man, "Jones and I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"I've had better days," Shaun ran a hand through his hair, "and to top it all off, I still can't seem to find my father's Sliver Star medal anywhere . . . I want him to have it when we bury him. It was his most prized possession. And I'm sure he was wearing it when he . . . you know."

"Well, finding lost objects is Detective Abbie's specialty!" Jones informed him, "if this medal is in the park, she'll find it for you!"

He grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and steered Abbie towards they area where Henry had been found. They went around the perimeter of the statue and Abbie spotted something shiny hidden in the tall grass at the statue's base. She pointed it out and Jones picked up the pieces.

"Oh dear, is this Henry's medal?" he asked in a whisper, "the explosion shattered it to pieces!"

"But it does still look like it makes up a medal," Abbie said.

"Do you think you could put it back together?" he questioned, "Shaun would be devastated to see it like this."

"I can try," she said under her breath taking the pieces form him. Jones got her a bottle of super glue from her bag and she dapped the liquid along the sliver edges. She held the pieces together two at a time, until all of them were back in place. The sun gently reflected off of the metal making  the star sparkle.

"I knew you could do it, Doc!" Jones cheered not realizing what she had really done, "Henry's Sliver Star looks brand new."

"Shaun will be happy," Abbie smiled.

They went back to the solider sitting on the bench and Abbie held out the medal to him. Shaun took it and marvelled at it in wonder.

"You found my father's Sliver Star!" he cried, "thank you so much, Detective Abbie!"

"Now Henry will be buried with all the merits he deserves," Jones said, "I hope that will be a comfort, Shaun."

"It will be," Shaun smiled sadly, "I hope the bomb didn't leave you to scared, Detectives."

"Well be fine," Abbie assured, "take care, Shaun."

They left the park and headed back to the station to see what Alex had found. They managed to avoided most of the curious officers and detectives on the way to the lab, and Jones wheeled his partner inside the room. Alex spun around in his chair and his face lit up.

"Abbie!" he shouted running up and giving her a hug, "your back!"

"Just for today," she laughed, "I got to go back to the hospital soon."

His face fell, "aw . . . its boring with out you around here."

"Well then, you best stall my departure then," she smirked.

"Can do!" he promised, "so you want to know about that USB key?"

"If you can tell us anything," Jones replied.

"Oh, I can," Alex grinned, "for an ex-solider, Donald Byrd was rather careless. The USB key you fond in his car trunk wasn't even encrypted!"

"So, I take it that you had an easy time finding what was on it?" Abbie guessed.

"He was committed to Grimsborough's Psychiatric Hospital upon his return from Vietnam. He suffered form PTSD and paranoia . . ." Alex explained, "however, he seems to have been subjected to some . . . unorthodox treatment while he was there. Some new pills, I'm not sure about the effects they had on him. "

"They certainly didn't help keep him sane . . ." Jones muttered, "well, Abbie, let's see what Rachel has to say about all of this."

"See ya, Alex," Abbie said.

He pouted, "can't you stay a little longer?"

"And risk another seizure?" she shook her head, "if one were to happen here, there's no telling what could happen."

"Alright . . ." he mumbled, "but come back to work soon."

"I will," she promised.

Jones wheeled her out of the tech lab and over to the elevator. They got inside and road down to the lobby and exited the building. Jones drove over to the Grim News headquarters where Rachel was waiting for them. They entered her office with the USB key in hand.

"This was all we found in his car, Rachel," Abbie informed the reporter giving it to her.

"SPLENDID!!" Rachel cheered, "you found a USB key in Byrd's car?! What's on it? I'm sure you had a look!"

"Byrd seems to have been subjected to some weird treatment during his stint in the Psychiatric Hospital. That's pretty much it," Jones answered, "and that still doesn't explain why he seems to have a beef with Greene Banking . . ."

"Are you kidding me?" she looked shocked, "Alden Greene is on the Hospital's Board of Directors! He's one of their biggest donators, as well!"

"Are you telling us you think Greene had something to do with Byrd's treatment?" he asked, "now your just being paranoid."

"And your very naïve," she countered, "I'm going to look into this, but I'm sure there's a big story there! Thanks for your help, Detective Abbie."

"Your welcome, Rachel," Abbie replied, "and now, back to the hospital!"


	18. A New Normal

Abbie sat on the edge of her hospital bed with Hunter by her side, waiting for the doctor to come back with her medication. She was getting discharged today as soon as she had filled out the last piece of paperwork. She watched outside as the leaves on the trees turned to beautiful golden and red colours as they changed over from summer to autumn.

Her doctor walked into her room with her clipboard on her hands. She gave a slip of paper to the detective along with a pen. Abbie filled out the required information the paper asked for, then handed it back to the doctor.

"Alright," the doctor checked her clipboard, "all your paperwork is in order and I expect to see you back here in one month for a check up."

"Of course , doctor," Abbie said grabbing her bag.

"Now," the doctor started, "I advise you to take it easy for the first little while. We haven't been able to find the cause of your blackouts, so you need to be careful during your work and other activities, especially driving. Do you understand?"

"I do, thank you," she said nodding her head, "is that all?"

The doctor checked her clipboard, "yes, and I wanted to apologize for removing your hijab without your consent."

"It's alright," she assured, "you needed to in order to perform the surgery."

She smiled, "I'm glad you're not angry, is someone coming to pick you up?"

"My partner is," she replied, "he should be here any minute."

"Alright, then you are free to go, but remember, don't over exert yourself to much, ease back into your routine," she ordered.

"Yes ma'am," Abbie answered. She grabbed her bag and Hunter hopped off the bed. The dog refused to leave her side the entire time she was hospitalized, the pros of being a service dog, the doctors couldn't force Hunter out. The k-9 badge was visible on her ball chain necklace to identify her since she out grew her sweater. The pair walked out of the hospital and out into the cool, later September air.

They only had to wait five minutes for Jones to arrive. His car pulled up in front of her and she climbed into the passenger seat. She threw her bag in the back and buckled her seat-belt. Hunter settled down at her feet, the dog's soft fur curling around her legs.

"What did the doctor say?" Jones asked as he turned onto the main road.

"They have no idea what causes my blackouts," Abbie reported.

"Dammit," he whistled, "anything else?"

"No, but I have to be careful for a little while," she sighed.

"Well, it's a good thing your less reckless then I am," he joked, "the team can't wait for you to come back."

"Oh, trust me, they're not the only ones," she laughed, "I plan to start back tomorrow."

"Isn't that to soon?"

"Not for me, the doctor said that I've made a remarkably fast recovery. Other than epilepsy, there's nothing else they could find."

"Well . . ." he turned into her driveway, "you'll have to talk to King about this."

"I know," she rolled her eyes. She grabbed her travel bag and climbed out of the car. Hunter hopped out after her and they walked up to the door. Jones fallowed behind her as she inserted her house key. She pushed open the door and Hunter ran inside before her while she dropped her bag down by the entrance. She walked into the rest of the entrance way and into her Livingroom, intending to sit down for a bit.

"SURPRISE!!!"

Abbie jumped as a choir of voices shouted the word together. She slapped her hand over her rapidly beating heart as she looked around her living room. The Grim PD's number one team had decorated the farmhouse with streamers and a "Welcome Home!" banner. Her gated fireplace had been lit, and the kids were using it to roast marshmallows under Valentina's supervision. The rest of the team stood around the room with grins on their faces.

"Give me a heart attack and send me back why don't ya!" Abbie yelled but the smile on her face showed she wasn't angry, "you guys didn't have to do this."

"No," Grace agreed, "but we wanted to."

"We got food, and cake, and drinks, and cake, and games, and cake!" Alex grinned.

"I take it there might be cake?" Abbie laughed.

He blushed, "maybe . . ."

Ramirez handed her a plate of food, "Val and Ginger made the food. You should try Ginger's spice cake! It's amazing!"

Valentina hugged her husband's arm, "oh really?"

He gave her a kiss, "but nothing beats your Flan, querido."

The three Ramirez girls made matching faces of disgust. The rest laughed while each grabbed a plate of food. Everyone took a seat around Abbie's living room and chatted together. Once everyone had their fill of supper, Alex and Jones brought out some games.

The main game they played was twister, Jones lost after only his second move, and the team had a blast. They tried to play a game of CLUE, but had to end it when Nathan got technical about the murder weapons.

After a few hours, the people left the farmhouse one by one to return home. Chief King was the last to leave but he stopped at the door.

"I almost forgot," he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a purple parachute-cord bracelet, "this is for you."

Abbie took the bracelet and examined the metal plate on it with the rod of Asclepius inside a purple asterisk and the word Blackouts underneath it. On the back-metal plate, it listed her name, an emergency contact (it was Nathan's number) and some basic medical information such as blood type and medication, "it's a medical ID bracelet."

He nodded, "I figured you'd like this style more then a flimsy metal chain."

"Thanks, Chief," she smiled taking them off, "I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

He laughed, "yes, I don't think I could stop you even if I tried."

She laughed as her boss left the house. She locked the door behind him and cleaned up the decorations from the party. The trash had already been taken out and the food put away, so she turned off her lights and got ready for bed.

Once in her pajamas, she pulled the covers back and petted the bed for Hunter to come up. The dog jumped up beside her and Abbie removed the badge and set it on the side table.

"Goodnight, Hunter," she yawned. The German Shepperd yipped in reply as she settled down beside her partner.


	19. Fashion Victim

"Detective Abbie!" Chief King marched into the office space, "get to the mall immediately!"

"Why?" Abbie asked, "need me to pick up some Halloween candy?"

"A woman has been found murdered in a clothing shop," he informed, "a man named Odell Toole reported the crime. Have a chat with him once you've looked at the crime scene."

"So, no Halloween candy?" she repeated.

"No," he rolled his eyes.

Abbie grabbed the keys and Jones fallowed his partner out to the car. They drove over to the large shopping mall full of clothing stores, book shops, electronics shops and kids' shops. They road the escalators up to the top floor where the clothing shop, Bell Boutique, was located. The shop had been taped off and officers stood on either side of the entrance guarding the crime scene. The mall hade been closed until further notice by the police, so only security guards and authorized people were allowed inside.

Bell Boutique was in the center of the top floor, the red and white shop had mannequins in the window displaying the newest fashion. Inside the well-lit area was racks and bins of clothes all around. The dressing rooms were built into a wall across form the check out counter. In the middle of the room was a set od three mannequins on a raised platform, but the center stand stood a real woman, not a plastic one.

"I don't know what this woman did," Jones remarked eyeing the pole coming out of the victim's mouth, "but I doubt anyone deserves to die like this."

"Don't even know how someone could die like this," Abbie muttered looking around.

"Well, its easy," Nathan called from his place by the body, "after she was killed, the killer shoved the pole up her-"

"I don't," she interrupted raising her index finger, " _want_  to know either."

He shrugged and went back to work, "suit yourself."

She looked around the clothes and racks for any clues. With so much stuff in the store, it was hard to tell what was suppose to be there and what wasn't. She passed by the purse rack and a black handbag cough her eye. She took it off and felt that there was weight to it. Upon looking inside, it was easy to tell that it belonged to the victim.

"Her ID says her name is Lucy Campbell," Abbie told her partner, "and there's a phone in here . . . and of course it's locked."

"Well, Abbie, you're the code-cracker," Jones replied, "show us your magic."

She woke up the phone and hooked her laptop up to it. A quick run of the password-cracker program had it unlocked and showed that the victim had missed 10 calls form some one named "Kimmy."

"One day you'll show me how you do this, right?" Jones asked unplugging the phone, "now let's see . . . the "Kimmy" who kept phoning Lucy last night, there's no address . . . let's have Alex track her down."

Abbie nodded, "now, let's go have a chat with Odell Toole. He may have seen something useful."

They left the shop before they could witness Nathan removing the victim from the mannequin pole. Odell Tolle had been placed inside the security office until they got there. The cleaning man was dressed in his green and yellow uniform lounging in the desk chair.

"Odell, I'm Detective Abbie and this is Jones," Abbie introduced themselves, "can you tell us about finding the body?"

"I was cleaning the alleys when I saw her body in the shop," Odell recounted, "at first I thought it was a really cool mannequin, haha!"

"You sound like you think she deserved to be killed, Mr. Toole," Jones gave him a suspicious look.

"I'm not surprised, that's all," he shrugged, "Lucy owned the shop, and she wouldn't let you forget it. She looked down on a lot of people, it's no wonder one of them decided to off her."

"Do you know someone who would have done it?" Abbie asked.

Odell shook his head, "I saw her this morning, y'know. Right before . . . she was with someone. No idea who they were or what they looked like though."

"We understand," Abbie assured him, "we will contact you if we have any further questions."

They left the security office and notified the other officers that they were leaving. Jones and Abbie got into their car and looked at each other.

"What now?" he asked.

"I don't know," she answered. Just them her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out and read the text massage, "it's Alex, he says, "the Kimmy who kept calling your victim last night is named Kim Aoki." He sent us her address with it."

She gave her phone to Jones who texted the response to the tech expert as Abbie started the engine. He read off the address for her and she navigated the roads to the upscale apartment complex. They walked up the stairs to the fourth floor and knocked on Kim's apartment door. A fashionably dressed woman answered it looking panicked.

"Kim Aoki," Abbie showed her badge, "I'm Detective Abbie, we our investigating the death of Lucy Campbell."

Kim gasped and tears sprang to her eyes, "I- I can't believe it. Are you- are you sure Lucy's dead?"

"We positively identified her this morning," she confirmed.

"This is why she wouldn't answer her phone . . . I thought she just didn't want to speak to me anymore!" she whipped her eyes.

"Where did you last see Lucy?" she asked.

"She wanted to party yesterday, so we went to that bar, the Golden Thimble," she began to cry more, "but we had a fight, and I went home early!"

"I am sorry for your loss, Kim," Abbie said, "if we have anymore questions, we will let you know."

They closed the door behind themselves to leave the grieving woman alone. They descended the stairs, Jones stating that he knew where the bar was on the way, an drove over to search the last place the victim had been before her death. They got to the saloon themed bar and quickly ran into the owner, Nina Hunt.

"Ms. Hunt," Abbie said to the woman, "we need to search your bar."

"Wait a second, no body searches  _my_  bar with out my permission!" Nina told them, "what do you want?"

"Lucy Campbell was found dead this morning," Jones informed her, "we know she came here last night. Anything you can tell us about this?"

"Lucy's dead? Dear me, how tragic . . ." she didn't sound to moved by the news, "well, yesterday she left with a douchebag, that's for sure. He spent the night using my waitresses' notepads to give his number to woman!"

"So . . ." Abbie drew the word out, "may we look around?"

Nina huffed, "if you must . . ."

Under the owner's supervision, the two detectives walked up to the bar. Abbie passed through the swinging guard door to get a look at the back shelves. The counter hadn't been cleaned yet from the pervious night, so one of the waitress notepads was still there. She grabbed it and set it on the bar top.

"You found a notepad!" Jones celebrated, "this must be what our mysterious person used to give away his phone number. Now, let's see what was last written on it . . ."

Abbie pulled out her powder kit and dipped the brush in the dark powder. She dusted it across the surface of the paper, and softly blew away the extra carbon powder. A number was written underneath the words, "Call me."

"This must be form the mysterious man," Abbie deduced, "can you text it to Alex to trace its owner?"

"On it," Jones assured pulling out his phone. He texted Alex who got back with an answer in less then five minutes, "he says it belongs to a Joey Manzano. Want me to have him called in?"

"That would be perfect," she smiled.

He texted the message and a response came back quickly, "he says he will, better go and see what Nathan found while we wait."

They got back to the station and road the elevator down to the basement. Once the lift stopped and the doors opened, they entered the lab and Nathan draped a blanket over top of Lucy's body. He had stripped off his bloody gear and pulled on his lab coat as they neared.

"Your victim was dead before she was put on that mannequin stand," Nathan told them, "she was strangled first, with some sort of metallic device."

"I'm willing to bet the murder weapon is made of wire," Abbie said.

"I also found saliva on her clothes, which doesn't match her own," he continued.

"Ew!" Jones gagged, "the killer spat on her?"

"From the saliva alone, I can tell you Lucy's killer drinks Diet Cola," Nathan smirked, "and it's no wonder, since they also have diabetes."

"Nathan, you never fail to impress," he patted the man on the back, "have you written all this down, Abbie?"

"I think I can remember it," she chuckled.

"And if not, Natey here will for us!" he teased.

Nathan shoved the detective away from him, "your  _still_  as annoying as the day I met you."

"A day which you can't forget," Jones laughed.

"Don't remind me," he rolled his dual colour eyes.

He smirked, "with a memory like yours? I don't have to remind you about anything!"

"The curse of an eidetic memory . . ." he grumbled.

"I didn't know you had an eidetic memory," Abbie said surprised.

Nathan shrugged, "most people don't, it's nothing to brag about."

"Well, I think it's neat," she declared.

"And now," Jones chimed in on things, "to see what Joey Manzano has to say about last night."

They left the morgue and headed upstairs too their interrogation room. Joey Marzano was a handsome looking man dressed in a crisp gray suit. He sat calmly at the table with an air of arrogance to him. Abbie placed a picture of Lucy Campbell in front of him to look at.

"You're the last person to have seen this woman alive," Abbie told him.

"Word has it you left the Golden Thimble with Lucy last night," Jones added.

"Whoa, wait," Joey started to perspire, "you mean I'm a suspect?"

"As it stands now," Abbie replied, "yes."

"Fuck, I knew that chick was trouble!" he growled, "oh yeah, she flirted back with me, they all do. But I didn't leave with her. She was stuck up like you wouldn't believe. I found a better girl to go home with."

"And I sure she was perfect," Jones smirked showing the suspect to the door.

The two detectives went back to their office to update their profiles with what they had learned. So far, they didn't have much for evidence except for the Diet Cola and diabetes.

"Okay, we're at a stand still," Jones sighed, "we've got a woman murdered in her own clothing shop, and no tangible suspect."

"Kim didn't have anything to say," Abbie recalled, "and Joey claims he didn't leave with her."

"We'd better have a look at the rest of the mall, y'know," he suggested, "and that woman at the bar, Nina Hunt? We should go have a chat with her."

They drove out to the mall first to have a look at the main entrance. Lucy's killer would have had to enter through that door way, so they could have dropped a clue on their way in or out.

"Hey, recognize that guy over there?" Jones asked pointing to a security guard.

"It's Biff," Abbie remarked seeing the bounder there in the black uniform.

"Maybe what happened with Trixie made him not want to work at the Blue flamingo any longer . . ." he pondered, "let's go say hello once we're done."

She nodded and got to work. There was a small food court area with kiosks selling drinks and small snacks and pastries. There was a garbage-can overflowing with trash near the tables, and Abbie pulled the bag out.

"A trash-bin . . .it's been an awhile," Jones reminisced, "please, Doc, be my guest!"

"Stop, you'll make me want to sing," she joked slipping on a pair of gloves. She dug her hands into the trash consisting of old coffee cups, food wrappers and pieces of gum. All in all, it was probably the best smelling thrash she had shifted through. Around the middle of the bag, she hit something metal, she pulled it out and found she was holding a metal hanger, twisted and covered in blood.

"Hey, there's blood on that hanger," Jones proclaimed, "what if this is our murder weapon?"

"Better get it to Nathan to find out," Abbie said. they bagged the hanger before they walked over to the security guard.

"Hey, Biff!" Jones yelled as they neared.

"Detective Abbie, Jones!" Biff smiled, "so nice to see you again!"

"You to Biff," Abbie smiled back, "how have you been?"

"I've been better," he replied, "I've heard about poor Lucy getting murdered . . . wherever I go, pretty girls seem to come to bad ends!"

"I'm sure that not true," she assured.

"I'd only spoken to Lucy a couple times, but she looked so sweet," he sighed, "her girlfriend Kim must be devastated!"

"Wait what? Kim was  _dating_  Lucy?" Jones inquired, "Abbie, I think someone has got some explaining to do!"

"I think your right," Abbie agreed.

They said goodbye to Biff before leaving the mall. They sung by the Golden Thimble first to see what Nina had to say about Joey's claims.

"So, we've had a chat with Joey Marzano, Mrs. Hunt, and he claims he did not leave with Lucy Campbell," Jones informed the bar owner.

"Look mister, I may own a bar, but I only ever drink Diet Cola," Nina drawled, "I know what I saw: that douchebag went home with Lucy! At least Kim was smart enough not to talk to him, unlike Lucy."

"Alright," Abbie nodded listening to her, "we need to search your bar again, is that alright?"

"Knock yourselves out," she told them leaving the room.

"I don't know if we should believe Nina or Joey," Jones sighed once the woman was out of ear shot, "although my moneys on Nina."

"Well, I'm going to have a look around for Joey's receipt" from last night," Abbie said going behind the bar, "that should give us the time he left."

"Where do you plan on finding that?" he asked sitting on a stool.

"Where do you think?" she answering the question with a question as she pated the cash register.

"The cash register, of course," he slapped his forehead, "pretty much the best place to look for a receipt! Can you unlock it? I don't want to talk to Nina again."

"One sec," she said punching a few of the numbers on the vintage register, "there we go."

"Man! You could rob a place blind!" he remarked, "how are you so good at opening cash registers?"

She shrugged not looking at him, "natural gift."

She looked through the till where the cash receipts were kept and found one matching the time that Lucy left. There was no name or a credit card number so the client had payed in cash.

"We should dust this for fingerprints," she said setting it on the bar.

"We might get lucky," Jones agreed.

Abbie pulled out her powder and dusted the slip of paper. She recovered three identical fingerprints on the receipt all usable for comparison.

"Now, let's pray they don't all belong to the waitress," Abbie hoped.

"Are you up for some fingerprint comparison, Doc?" Jones asked.

"Me?" she said wide eyed.

"Yes, you!" he laughed, "Alex programed the fingerprint database into your laptop, all you have to do is the matching."

"Al-alright," she pulled out the computer and turned it on. She scanned in the fingerprints and pulled up the correct programs. She matched the swirling patterns together and got a match. She turned the screen around for her partner to see.

"No doubt about it, those fingerprints on the receipt belong to Joey," Abbie said, "he definitely left the bar the same time Lucy did."

"Say, he's pretty cheap," Jones read the purchase on the slip, "only had one drink the entire night. Diet Cola, just like our killer!"

"Got it," she added that to his profile.

"In any case, we've got proof he left the same time Lucy did," he smirked grabbing the receipt, "let's go see what lovebird has to say about this."

He called Joey back to the station as Abbie drove the squad car over to Kim's apartment. They thumped up the stairs to her door and knocked on the hard wood.

"Can I help you Officers?" Kim asked once she had opened the door.

"You had failed to mention that your we're Lucy's girlfriend," Abbie answered.

"Yes, me and Lucy were lovers," she confirmed, "how is that any of your business?"

"Your ex-girlfriend gets brutally murdered a few hours after you two got into a fight," Jones replied flatly, "and you really think you're not a suspect? Give us a break, Kim."

Kim's anger flared, "I would never have laid a finger on Lucy! And until you can prove that, lay off with the accusations!"

She slammed the door in the detectives', and dog's, faces. They walked back down the stairs and out the apartment building. They drove back to the station, avoiding the lunch rush traffic, and went to the interrogation room where Ramirez had put Joey for them. Abbie slid the receipt and a print out of the fingerprint match in front of him.

"You know, Joey, lying to the Police is never a good idea . . ." Jones informed the man wisely, "we have proof you and Lucy left at exactly the same time."

"Alright, we did," Joey grumbled, "but outside the bar, that bitch told me she'd just wanted to make her lover jealous! No idea who they were, but I pity them!"

"Sorry for not taking your word for it," he rolled his eyes, "still, is there any reason you only drank one Diet Cola the entire night at Nina's?"

"Ever heard of diabetes?" he spat, "fucking cops and their fucking questions . . ."

They left the pissed off man go free and went down to the morgue to see what Nathan had found from the bloody hanger they had sent him.

"Is the hanger out murder weapon?" Abbie asked.

"This hanger is indeed your murder weapon," Nathan answered holding it up, "the metal matches the fragments found in the victim's wounds."

"Did you find anything out about our killer?" Jones inquired.

"Haan, see the way the hangers twisted?" he pointed to the hooked end, "it shows that your killer is right-handed."

"Perfect," he grinned, "this looks like a job for Ramirez."

They said goodbye to Nathan and went back up stairs to find Ramirez. The officer was sitting at his desk, filling away some reports.

"Ramirez, we need you!" Jones called over, "our killer is right-handed, and we need to know which suspects match that description."

"Thanks for the opportunity," Ramirez saluted, "I'll get on it straight away!"

"And Abbie, we need to have another look at Lucy's shop," he pondered, "maybe Biff can help us a little too . . ."

They left Ramirez to his work and drove over to the mall. They found Biff at the security post closest to the entrance, and stopped to talk to their friend.

"Biff, you're head of security, right?" Jones asked

"I am," he confirmed.

"Do you know if there's a surveillance camera with a view of Lucy's Boutique?" Abbie questioned.

"Oh, sure," he pointed to a spot by the escalators, "there's one with a view over the whole west alley. It's near the escalators. Unfortunately, there was a problem with the tapes last night. They all got erased."

"Dammit!" Jones cured.

"There's a failproof system inside each camera, though," Biff reassured them, "find the camera and you'll get the tape."

They thanked him and walked over to the area where he directed them to. The only camera they could find, was a smashed one dangling from its mounted base. Abbie grabbed a screwdriver from her bag and climbed onto Jones's shoulders. He lifted her up to its height and she unscrewed it from the celling.

"Well, good thing Biff was hanging around," Jones grunted from the ground, "I'm not sure we would have found the camera with out his help!"

"Agreed," Abbie said taking out the last screw, "but it still needs some repairs first before we send it to Alex."

"Right," he said lowering her back down.

She reached into her bag and pulled out the super glue. She dabbed drops along the edges and held to pieces together to secure them in place.

"There," she announced holding up the finished product, "one CCTV surveillance camera ready for analyses."

"Abbie, you really have a gift!" he smiled, "now, to get it to Alex."

Right after he said that, Ramirez came running up to the, dripping sweat from his forehead. He whipped it with the back of his hand and sucked in a deep breath.

"Guys! Phew, I thought I wouldn't catch you in time," he panted, "I have your information. All your suspects are right handed except for Biff."

"Damn it!" Jones hissed under his breath, "thanks anyway, Ramirez."

"Can you run this over to Alex for us?' Abbie asked holding out the CCTV surveillance camera.

"I sure can!" Ramirez promised taking it.

The officer left the mall while Jones, Abbie and Hunter road the escalators up to the top floor. They walked down the brightly lit hallways to Bell Boutique and ran into Odell on the way inside.

"Hi guys! I just bought a pack of Diet Cola, you want one?" Odell patted the pack on tin cans on his cleaning cart, "I bet this job must make you pretty thirsty. I'd rather have regular cola, but with my diabetes . . . don't have much of a choice."

"I'll pass, thanks," Jones brawled holding up a hand.

"So, you're still searching for clues?" he asked, "I'm sure I saw something in Lucy's shop."

"Thanks for the tip," Abbie replied suspicious.

Odell rolled his cart in form of him as he walked away from the detectives. Jones and Abbie entered the store and had a look around for clues. Abbie investigated the mannequins standing across form where Lucy's body had been placed. One of the mannequins was carrying a purse and hanging out of the bag was a plastic glove caked in blood. She pulled it out and noted the hole in one of this glove's fingers.

"I'm starting to think the killer actually wants to be caught," she commented showing him the glove.

"Bloody glove on the crime scene?" Jones looked at it dumbfound, "seriously?"

"Arf!" Hunter bark.

"I take it you agree with me?" he smirked, "they're either stupid or very cunning. Abbie, can you get a sample from this glove please?"

"One blood sample, coming right up!" she replied getting her tools out. She found a good sample of the blood on the inside of the glove from where it had torn at the finger. She dropped it onto a microscope slide and bagged the two items for Grace.

They rushed the sample over to the lab once they got back to the Police station. Ramirez had informed them that he had given the CCTV camera to Alex and the tech expert was waiting for them to give his results to. They entered his lab where they found him sitting in his beanbag chair with the surveillance camera in his hands.

"Abbie, I don't know how you managed to put this camera back together, but I'm impressed!" Alex informed her.

"Did you manage to find our killer on the tapes?" Abbie asked him.

"The lights weren't on in the mall, so it's pretty dark," he pouted, "but I still managed to determine that your killer's 6'3"."

"We only have three suspect who are that tall," Abbie recalled rubbing her neck, "I hated talking to them."

Jones snickered, "shorty."

She raised an eyebrow, "I can still take you down, mister 6'2"."

Alex laughed, "now that, I'd love to see!"

Abbie smirked.

"Hey," Jones look scared, "what are yo-!"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. Abbie swung her leg and hit him in the back of the knees. This caused them to buckle giving her the opportunity to grab his arm and twist it behind his back. Using her shoulder as leverage, she forced him to the ground, placing her knee on his lower back. She used her free leg to pin his other arm down leaned over him to keep the rest of his body to the ground. Hunter, wanting to get in on the action. Rushed up to Jones's head and put her paws on top, keeping his head against the ground.

"Do you surrender?" Abbie asked.

"I give!" Jones cried.

"And do you admit I'm better at take downs?" she added.

"Yes, yes!" he struggled to get free, "your better at take downs! Now get off me!"

"Ahh . . ." Grace had just walked into the room and stared blankly at the scene in front of her, "do I want to know?"

Alex was in his seat laughing his ass off, "I think- ha! - you can- haha! Figure it out!"

"So, what did you find out about that blood?" Abbie asked, her and Hunter taking a seat on Jones's back.

"I thought you said you get of me?!" Jones barked.

"I never said anything about that," she put a finger to her lips, "now, shh! Grace is talking."

"I expected the blood to belong to your victim, but it doesn't match," Grace smothered her giggles, "which means it's your killer's blood. It was badly contaminated, but I can still assert that your killer's eyes are green."

"Well!" Jones announced finally managing to throw Abbie and Hunter from his back, "I think we finally have what we need to put our killer behind bars. Care to call them in, Abbie?"

"I have a better idea," Abbie grinned sticking her hand out. He pulled her up and fallowed her outside. She hopped into their car and drove out to the mall to arrest the killer. They found Odell mopping the floor outside of a Bath and Body Works shop, whistling a tune as he worked.

"Odell Toole," Abbie pulled out her cuffs, "you're under arrest for the murder of Lucy Campbell."

"Finally!" Odell cheered dropping his mop, "I thought you guys would never put two and two together."

Jones jaw hit the floor, "are you telling us you were waiting to be arrested?"

"Of course. It's not like I didn't help you too!" he huffed, "now people are finally going to know my name! No one's going to ignore me anymore!"

"The Judge certainty wont!" he glared as Abbie snapped the cuff on the janitor's wrists and read him his rights.

"I've been waiting so long to hear his sentence!" Odell practically squealed, "you have no idea how happy you're making me, Detective!"

Abbie just made the cuffs tighter.

_In an almost empty Courtroom . . ._

"Mr. Toole," Judge Hall look at the beaming man, "do you plead guilty for the murder of Lucy Campbell?"

"Of course, I'm guilty!" Odell smiled proudly, "not only that, I'm damn prod of it, too!"

"I hope the prison has a good psychiatrist," Abbie whispered to Jones.

"Me two," he whispered back, ". . . and hopefully its not Bishop."

Odell meanwhile, was on a rant, "this stuck up bitch wouldn't even give me the time of day! To her, and to all you people, I just don't exist! "Oh, here comes Odell with his cleaning trolley, haha, he's so poor." Now look who's laughing!"

"Every human life has a value, Mr. Toole," Judge hall informed him, "I hope the 20 years you'll spend in jail for first degree murder will help you reflect on that."

"20 years, that's nothing!" he snorted, "I bet you everyone still remembers my name when I'm out! And if they don't, I'll make sure they do!!"

The man was led out of the room by the guards, and the dozen people who had come to watch the verdict left quickly. Jones and Abbie walked down the steps back to their car.

"Odiously, a lot of people are looking for scapegoats to give purpose to their lives . . ." Jones sighed, "personally, a barbeque at the end of the week is good enough for me!"

"With grilled scallops!" Abbie added.

"Sure," he chuckled, "talking about that, what are you doing next week-end, Abbie?

"Hmm," she hummed, "I was planning to have a quite night in, but I might be going to a barbeque now. . ."

_The next day . . ._

"Detective Abbie," Chief King stood in front of the young officer's desk, "we've just received a complaint about the Golden Thimble."

Abbie took the paper, "what for?"

"Apparently, Mrs. Hunt is selling absinthe, despite it being illegal," he answered, "go and sort this thing out, will you?"

"Don't worry about it, Alab," she smiled.

"While you at it, go check up on Miss Aoki," he added, "she just lost her girlfriend, we had better make sure she's okay."

"Kim must be at Lucy's shop," Jones suggested, "while were at the mall, we might as well go see how Biff's doing. We barely talked to him!"

They took the complaint form with them to go talk to Nina about the claims. The bar owner was sweeping the floor up, finally getting around to cleaning up the place.

"Mrs. Hunt," Jones greeted the woman, "we've received a complaint about an illegal sale in your bar. You've sold absinthe to a client and it is forbidden by law."

"Who's filled a complaint against me?!" Nina demanded, "it's a bunch of lies! I've never sold absinthe in my bar!"

"Well then, I guess you've got no objections to Detective Abbie having a look at your counter," he asked, "am I right?"

"Uh, sure . . ." her grip on the broom handle tightened, "go ahead."

Abbie took that as an invitation to go behind the bar. She checked under the counter but all the glasses and mixology tools had been whipped clean already. She turned to the wall behind her and saw an elaborate looking spoon hanging from a hook on the wall. She took it off and felt a sticky residue on the handle.

"Nice catch, Abbie," Jones prised standing next to her, "let's take an sample to make sure, but I'm ready to bet this is an absinthe spoon."

"Right," she nodded. She used her dropper to lift a sample of the green liquid from the spoon. She dropped it onto a slid and bagged the two together for Grace.

"Your sample is perfect!" he cheered, "sent it to Grace so that she can process it with a quick analysis."

"Then we can check in with Kim and Biff," she said.

Jones and Abbie dropped the sample off with Grace to find out what it really was. Then they went to the mall and road an elevator up to the top floor and walked into Bell Boutique. They found Kim wandering around, looking for something.

"Hello, Kim," Abbie smiled sadly, "how are you holding up?"

"Oh, officers, can you help me?" Kim almost wailed, "the fashion week begins in a week and I can't find Lucy's last sketch. I wanted . . . I wanted to pay tribute to her talent!"

"Don't worry, Kim. Detective Abbie will find your sketch in no tm," Jones assured.

Abbie smiled as she got to work. She checked the counter and back room first, but there were not recent sketches there. Her and Hunter searched the main area and the dog zooned in on a box next to the dressing rooms. Abbi came over and saw that it was full of old clothes and accessories. She dug through it and found some piece of torn paper, some with visible colour pencil on them.

She turned her head and glance over, Jones had gotten Kim and himself some coffee from the customer machine and neither were looking her way. Not wanting to give the grieving woman the destroyed sketch, she quietly taped it back together almost seamlessly. She stood up and walked over to the two.

"Kim, good news. I've found Lucy's last sketch," Abbie held out the paper, "she was very talented."

"Oh, that's fantastic!" Kim cried taking the sketch, "thank you, thank you so very much Detective Abbie!"

"I bet these outfit will win first place," she expressed her assuredness.

"In memory of Lucy, I've decided to call my spring-summer collection: Lucy's Dream," she sniffed.

"I'm sure she'd have loved the name," Jones reassured, "good luck with the collection, Kim."

They left the fashion Boutique and headed down to the main entrance area to look for Biff. They found the head of security monitoring the people milling around the small food kiosk area.

"So, Biff, how do you like your new job?" Jones asked.

"Oh, it's great, really," he answered, "it's nice working during the day. But I've lost my MP3 player yesterday, and I'm getting board without my music."

"Abbie, what do you say we have a quick look for this MP3 player?" he asked his partner.

"Just give us fifteen minutes," Abbie told him.

They left the security guard and looked around for where he could have lost his music device. There wasn't a designated area for lost and found items and the garbage had been thrown out that morning. Abbie walked around and stumbled upon an abandoned cleaning trolley.

"Isn't that Odell's cleaning kart?" Jones asked seeing what she found, "but he's already in jail, Abbie!"

"But he might have Biff MP3 player," Abbie pointed out.

"Why would he have stolen Biff's MP3 player anyway?" he questioned.

"Are you doubting my intuition?" she countered.

"What? Your . . . intuition? Oh alright," he caved, "by now I know better than to doubt you."

She searched the kart and found an MP3 player, "and you doubt me."

"Well, would you look at that! An MP3 player!" he smirked, "but- and there's always a but- how can you be sure it's Biff's? Oh! I've got a great idea!"

"Don't tell me you want me to dust for fingerprints?"

"No! let's compare it with our database!"

She raised an eyebrow, "we have a music player database?"

"I don't think that's what it's called," he mused, "but I know music players are in it!"

"Alright," she pulled out her laptop and searched for the database that sounded right. There was one labelled handheld technology. She tried that one and using a picture of the MP2 player they found, she matched it to the make and model registered and it matched Biff's.

"This is the one," Abbie said shutting down her computer.

"This one? Your sure?" Jones asked, "ok let's give this MP3 player to Biff!"

He grabbed the MP3 player off the kart and they walked back to their tall friend.

"Hey Biff, we're back!" Jones yelled, "Abbie has found your MP3 player."

"Marvellous! I couldn't have spent another day without Mozart in my ears," Biff thanked them accepting his device, "do you like classical music, officers?"

". . . uh, no, classical music's not really my style," he replied, "I prefer a good County song! Don't you, Doc?"

"I like them only for dancing," Abbie chimed in.

"Country, eh?" Biff looked in thought, "then I know how to thank you! What could be better than eating a nice burger while listening to some Country? It's on me!"

"Vegetarian for me, please!" Abbie declared fallowing the security guard as he led the way.

After they had a good supper at one of the food kiosks, a stall that sold different kinds of hamburgers, vegetarian included, they said their goodbyes and good lucks to Biff and headed out. They had to check in with Grace first and find out what she had discovered about their spoon and green liquid.

"So, do you know what this spoon was used for?" Abbie asked looking at the item in it's bag.

"Well, this spoon has definitely been used to pour absinthe," Grace answered, "but I thought the drink was illegal in the US?"

"It is," Jones narrowed his eyes, "the fenchone, an organic compound in absinthe, tends to make people crazy. And Nina Hunt is going to pay a high price for selling it!"

"She'd better have her check book ready," Abbie joked fallowing her partner out to the car.

_At the Golden Thimble . . ._

"Mrs. Hunt," Abbie said to get the woman's attention, "we've discovered some absinthe on a spoon found in your bar."

"We are going to have to fine you for that," Jones added already writing the ticket out.

"I have to pay for a spoon?" Nina looked out raged and shocked, "am I responsible for all the stuff my clients forget in my bar?"

"Yes, you are," he replied ripping off the ticket, "here is your fine. I'd advise you to pay it quickly!"

Nina glared at the man and ripped the ticket out of his hand.


	20. Happy Birthday to You!

Abbie and Hunter walked through the wooden gate to enter Jones's backyard. His house was in the University just a few blocks form his nieces and nephew's school. The backyard had been set up with tables, chairs, and lanterns strung from the trees. Her partner was by his grill preparing it for the nights festivities. Ginger was setting up the drinks and snacks tables before the others arrived.

"Hey you two," Abbie waved to them.

Jones looked up, "you're not suppose to be here for another hour!"

She shrugged, "I thought you might have needed some help."

"Well . . ." he shared a look with his girlfriend, "is there anything she can do, Gin?"

The manager though about it, "can you finish this up? I have to run to the store for a minute."

"Sure," Abbie smiled leading Hunter over.

Ginger explained how she wanted the punch bowls and snack bowls set up on the table before kissing Jones on the cheek and getting in her car. Abbie get to work setting up the stuff while Jones brought out the hamburgers, hot-dogs and scallops.

"You managed to find scallops?" Abbie asked seeing the white orbs.

"It was a challenge," Jones admitted sheepishly, "had to try three different stores before I found a place that sold them."

"I hope they'll be worth it," she said putting the last of the chips in their bowls.

He groaned, "don't tell me you are some kind of scallop connoisseur?"

She laughed, "no, but if you ever have fresh Atlantic scallops, you know their hard to beat."

"I thought you were from the Southwest?"

"I did, but my mother was originally from Nova Scotia, and the province has a lot of fishing communities," she explained.

"Province?" Jones echoed.

She rolled her eyes, "the equivalent to states."

"Ah!" he nodded looking at his drive way, "I think Grace and Alex just arrived."

They listened as a car engine shut off and two doors opened and closed. The forensic scientist and tech expert entered the backyard, each holding a bag. The placed them on a table by the gate and smiled at the two detective and dog.

"Hey guys!" Alex grinned, "Ramirez is just behind us."

"And Nathan texted me saying him, Chief and Avi are almost here," Grace added.

"Great!" Jones dropped a few burgers onto the grill, "Ginger should be back soon."

Ramirez and his family came in a minute later, the three girls ran over to Abbie and Hunter and begged the woman to play with them. Ramirez and Valentina put a bakery box on the table by the door.

Abbie was sill entertaining the girls when Chief King, Nathan and Avi arrived, the adults each placing a present on the table while Avi dropped a card next to them. The kid them joined in on the game of tag while the rest of the adults got the food ready.

Ginger arrived about fifteen minutes later with a larger rectangle box in her arms. jones hurried over and helped her place it in the center to the presents and removed the lid and set it off to the side.

"Hey, Abbie!" Jones yelled over to his partner, "come over here!"

Abbie and the kids stopped their game to came see what he wanted to show them. As she neared the table, she saw that it was a large cake inside the box, frosted in chocolate icing, with purple pipping detail along the edges and pink lotus flowers in the corners. In the center of the cake was the words, "Happy Birthday Abbie!" written in cursive script.

"How did you-?" she started to say, then smacked her forehead, "I was just about to ask how you knew it was my birthday, then remembered you all have access to my file."

King laughed, "did you really think we wouldn't celebrate your birthday?"

"Yeah!" Avi grinned, "we celebrate  _everyone's_  birthday!"

"Well," Abbie smiled, "I didn't tell you, so it wasn't top priority."

"Well," Jones slung his arm around her, "we got it all set up! Presents, food, cake, Alex even checked your file and found out your birthday is on the mid-autumn festival!"

"What's that?" Mariposa asked.

"It's a festival celebrated in China and Vietnam, along with some other countries. It's traditionally a time to worship the moon and celebrate the harvest during the autumn full moon," Abbie explained, "I once celebrated it in China on my 16th birthday."

"Were there fireworks?" Lucia inquired.

She shook her head, "not at the one I was at, but some do. There were lanterns though in all kinds of designs and colours."

"Were there dragons?!" Itzel gasped.

"Yes, there were," she laughed, "but enough about me, let's eat!"

They all dug into the food Jones and prepared and crammed around together at the long table. The kids kept sneaking (everyone saw them, but no one had the heart to stop them) Hunter food underneath the table as they ate and talked.

"So, Abbie," Valentina turned to the woman, "Eddy tells me you used to dance."

Abbie swallowed her last scallop, "I did."

"What did you dance?" she asked.

She laughed, "what didn't I dance? I could belly dance by the time I was 6 and doing the foxtrot at 9!"

"You were dancing on foxes?!" Itzel cried.

"No," Abbie assured her, "it's a form of ballroom dancing, no foxes are harmed in the making of it."

"Oh," the child nodded, "can you do the flamenco?"

"I can," she confirmed.

"O! you and Mamá could put on a festival!" Mariposa interrupted.

"Yeah! She's a professional!" Lucia added.

Valentina chuckled, "girls! Don't hound the poor woman!"

"You're a dancer?" Abbie asked her.

"No," she chuckled shaking her head, "I'm a professional Matador and fencer."

"Really?!" she asked wide-eyed.

"Indeed, my father was one and his father before him," she explained, "papa never had a son, so he decided to keep the tradition in the family and teach me."

"Wow . . . cool."

"Can she open presents now?" Avi asked.

"Kaddoo," Nathan looked at his son, "she'll open the presents when she wants to, be patient."

"Aw! But Itzel and I worked really hard on our cards!" he insisted.

"I can open the presents now," Abbie said, "if that's alright with the rest of you?"

Grace chuckled, "it's your birthday, remember? But I think it is a good idea, it's starting to get late."

They moved over to the present table and the kids begged Abbie to read their cards first. She smiled as she picked up the handmade cards and read each on of them and thank each kid for the gift. She placed them on the table and picked up the first present, a box wrapped in sliver star wrapping paper with a gold bow.

"From Alab," Abbie read the tag attached to the ribbon. She opened the box and pulled out an interact bronze armillary sphere, "wow."

"Jones told me you were an astronomer," King smiled at her look of awe, "I thought you would like it."

"Like it?" she cried, "I love it! Merci Alab!"

"Your welcome," he replied, "now open the next one."

She picked up the bag Grace had brought in. She pulled out the tissue paper and saw that there was a box set of six Turkish coffee cups with purple designs and a brass cezve, "where did you find these? There beautiful!"

"At Galloway's antique shop," Grace answered, "the owner told me that there used to make and serve traditional Turkish coffee, I knew my coffee addicted Turkish friend would like them."

"I might have to have a drink form each cup, to make sure that work properly" she smirked, "thank you Grace."

"Open mine next!" Alex begged bouncing on his feet.

"This one?" Abbie pointed to the small blue bag.

He nodded grinning.

She slid the bag closer to her and peaked inside. She pulled out a pair of kimono purple wireless headphones, in a slimmer style then the tech geek's. They had a microphone attached to the right ear that could move to either be in front of her mouth or up and out of the way.

"Awsome!" she beamed looking them over, "I'm going to get some use out of these!"

"I thought you would," Alex grinned, "now we can have online battles. Galaga next week?"

"Your on, thanks Alex," she smiled grabbing the next box. The tag said if was form the Ramirez's. she lifted the lid and found a dozen moon cakes stacked inside of it. They were made with traditional crust with an intricate lotus design on the tops, "ooooh!"

"A friend of mine made them," Ramirez explained, "she went with a modern custard filling, coffee of course."

"I'll save these for later," Abbie closed the lid, "thank you guys."

She put the box off to the side and bragged the purple bag. She read the tag and saw that it was from Jones and Ginger. She pulled out the tissue paper and lifted out a folded bundle of fabric. It was soft and dyed black with a galaxy pattern designed on top of the base. Once she spread it out she realized that it was a hijab.

"Sweet!" Abbie exclaimed removing her purple one to change it, "I always wanted a galactic hijab!"

"I thought you would like it," Ginger smiled, "when I found the fabric in the store, Jones looked up the measurements and I stitched it up."

"It's amazing you two," she put her purple hijab into the bag. She grabbed the last box, the one form Nathan, and lifted off the lid. Inside was a canvas with a hand painted louts flower on it. It was in a traditional Indian style with a sliver henna boarder around it all one the canvas dyed with an ombre purple background.

"This is beautiful," Abbie breathed taking it out of the box, "did you paint this yourself, Nathan?"

He nodded, "I wanted to incorporate some Indian style, it works well with lotuses and henna."

"Mommy is really good at it!" Avi grinned up at his mother, "he did henna on auntie Grace once."

"It really was beautiful," Grace confirmed, "if only my skin would have agreed with it. Even if his is all-natural, my red-head skin didn't agree with it."

"Wow," Abbie looked at the coroner, "I didn't know you knew henna."

"I don't use it as much as I used to," Nathan explained, "maybe I'll break it out some time and show you."

"Sounds like fun," she grinned putting the painting away, "thank you, all of you."

"The least we can do is give you a great birthday party after everything you've already done for this town," King told her, "now, you all have work in the morning, so go home!"

"That an order?" Alex teased.

"Yes, yes, it is Turner," he smirked.

They all helped Jones and Ginger put the barbeque and tables away into the garage, clean up the decorations and put the trash in bags to take out to the end of the road. Then they all got into their cars and left the house. Chief King helped Abbie put her presents in the trunk of his car as he offered to drive her home. She got in the back with Avi and Hunter while Nathan took shot gun as their boss drove the car.

Chief King dropped Nathan and Avi off at their house before driving over to the small farm house at the edge of the forest. He helped her unload her presents and she set the armillary sphere on the edge of her fireplace mantle and set her painting in the center of it, she carried her new headphones up stairs and set them on her desk in her office. King put her coffee set and moon cakes in the kitchen. She dropped the empty boxes and bags by her trash can to put out next garbage day.

"Best birthday, ever!" Abbie shouted tossing Hunter a new bone.

Chief King laughed, "I thought you said your sweet sixteen was spent in China?"

"It was," she replied, "but nothing compares to spending my birthday with my aile."

"Aile?" he cocked his head.

"Family," she corrected, "spending my birthday with my family."

He smiled, "I'm glad we could make it special, good night, Detective."

"Good night, Chief," she said closing the door behind him.


	21. Family Blood

"We've got a delicate case today, Abbie," Chief placed a photo of a middle-aged woman on his desk, "a woman was found tied up, dead, right next to her baby's crib."

"You mean . . ." Jones took a deep breath as Abbie grabbed the picture, "the baby was there when she got killed?"

"That's precisely what I mean, yes," he said glumly, "but there's more. The victim? Was Alden Greene's daughter-in-law, Aileen Greene."

"Alden Green? The business magnet who owns half of this district?" he snorted, "that bodes well!"

"The media will have a field day," Abbie added slipping Aileen's picture into her bag.

"Come on, Abbie," Jones stood up, "we've got a VIP crime scene waiting for us!"

"Coming," she said as her and Hunter fallowed.

When they got to the crime scene, a modern urban bungalow on the edge of the Financial Center over looking the river. The streets were crowded with reporters and people carrying cameras trying to get shots of the house. The department had blocked off the street to the house with a block wide radius and were struggling to keep the crowds out. Jones squeezed the car into the secured area and parked in front of the house. They got out of the car and walked up the path to the front door.

"This is fancy," Jones remarked turning the cold brass door knob.

"Should see my father's summer home," Abbie muttered eyeing the expensive artwork on the walls, "I'll never understand modern art."

"It's atrocious if you ask me," a woman carrying a baby said from the dinning room. She was on a chair trying to shush the wailing child in her arms.

"Irma Fusslepot?" Jones asked remembering the nanny's name from the file.

Irma nodded and began pacing the floor, "the baby has been crying all morning. Poor little Oliver. I'm sure he knows his momma's dead!"

"It must have been quite a shock, finding Mrs. Greene this way," he sympathised, "when did you arrive at the house?"

"Around 7am. I always come in early on Tuesday," he declared proudly, "Mrs. Greene liked to sleep late. She was not the most dedicated mother, if you know what I meant."

"I can relate," Abbie rolled her eyes.

"I was the one who really took care of raising Oliver," Irma rubbed the baby's back, "Mr. Greene knew his new wife couldn't be counted on."

"I see . . ." she agreed, "my partner and I would like to talk to him, is he home?"

"He should be back from his morning jog any minute," she replied, "he will be in the living room down the hall when he gets back."

"Thank you, Mrs. Fusslepot," she said leaving the nanny to try and calm down the baby.

They walked up the open riser staircase to the second floor where down the long hallway was the nursery. It was a good-sized room with the bed and change table against the far wall, a rocking horse and toy chest on a larger, fuzzy carpet and a rocking chair in the corner. On the floor facing away from the crib was Aileen's body, tied up at her arms and legs. Nathan was crouched down beside her, examining the rope.

"Killing a woman right next to her baby is heartless, but tying her up?" Jones looked pale, "this is the work of a psychopath, if you ask me!"

"I'm just glad Oliver won't remember this when he's older," Nathan breathed, "no kid should have to see death."

"I really hope you find something during your autopsy," Jones growled, "something that will lead us straight to Aileen's killer!"

"He has a thing about killing in front of children," Nathan informed Abbie quietly, then to Jones, "I can't make any promises, but I will try to find some evidence for you to use."

"That's all I ask," he sighed looking at the crib.

Abbie looked around the room cluttered with toys and baby products. Aileen's body was laying in-between the crib and the toy chest. She looked on top of the closed trunk and found a letter with the beginning of an address written on it. The last part of the address was faded away but there were faint traces of ink showing shadows of what had once been there.

"Vict. Bvd, Cross River . . ." she read off, "the rest is missing."

"I'm going to need your expert skills once again!" he declared looking at the paper.

"I thought you would say that . . ."

She got her magnify glass out and examined the faded words on the paper. Once she had deciphered the words, she wrote them down on a yellow sticky note and stuck it onto thee front of the page.

"STH D3 WAR6," Abbie read, then blinked, "ah . . . what?"

"I wonder how that address got nest to Aileen's body," Jones mused, "I all so wonder what it points to! . . . Something Down . . . no, I've got nothing."

"You got further then I did," she said bagging it.

"Let's take this address to Alex," he ordered, "hopefully he'll be able to make sense of it!"

"I got it," Nathan held his hand out. Abbie gave him the bag before leaving him to his work. The partners walked back down the stairs and down the hallway to the living room.

"Alright, Abbie," Jones whispered, "remember, we're dealing with Alden Greene's son here. We'd better be tactful if we don't want to have Alden on our backs afterwards."

"I couldn't agree with you more," Abbie whispered back.

They entered the sleek living room where Paul Greene was sitting on the couch tapping his foot impatiently against the wood flooring. When he saw them enter, he sprang from his seat like it was on fire.

"Paul Greene, I'm Detective Abbie and this is Detective Jones. We will be investigating your wife's murder," Abbie introduced taking the lead.

"You had better find my wife's murderer double quick, Detective Abbie!" Paul demanded, "whoever dared enter my home must be caught and locked up!"

"We understand you're upset, but we're here to help you, Mr. Greene," she assured the man, "did your wife have any enemies?"

"Aileen had trouble making friends," he growled, "but who in this town would be foolish enough to attack the Greene name anyway?! I can't imagine the scandal once the news gets out. Reporters will have a field day of it. Blast them!"

"We can't prevent this from making the news, but we will keep all vital evidence and information confidential," she told him, "if we have any more questions, we will ask you."

They ended the conversation and exited the room. Jones and Abbie walked down the hallway to the front door, the saw that Oliver had fallen asleep in Irma's arms. The detectives walked out of the house and out into the busy streets, reports demanding for information but they just kept walking until they were in their car.

"Charming man," Jones scoffed, "Paul seems more concerned about the fact that someone dared attack the Greene name then the death of his wife!"

"I've already told you," Abbie checked the mirrors to make sure no one was fallowing them, "money changes people, some for the better, others . . ."

"Well, I'm starting to dislike the everyone in this part of town, Doc," he glared, "they're all more interested about money and reputation than about people!"

"I'm not even gonna say anything," she replied.

Jones's phone went off and he answered it, "Jones . . . hey Alex . . . the factories? . . . I didn't think we'd set foot in the Industrial Area again! . . . our GSP? . . . thanks Alex."

"The Industrial Area?" Abbie asked.

"Yup," he answered, "Alex said that the address corresponded to South Dock number 3, warehouse number 6. He imputed the coordinates to our GRP."

"I wonder how Sam's doing," she pondered listening to the GSP's instructions.

"He's fine, this is One-Tooth-Sam we're talking about!"

They took the bridge over to the Industrial Area and fallowed the GPS's voice as it navigated them to the factories. The found warehouse number 6 on the third docks easily enough, and got out of their car to investigate.

"This place gives me the creeps," Jones gulped double checking the address, "why would a woman of Aileen's standing come here?!"

"Hope fully we can find some clues to solve the mystery . . ." Abbie said ducking under a fallen beam.

Jones worked to carefully move the fallen beam away from the entrance while Abbie and Hunter looked around the room for clues. They saw that there was a mattress hidden behind some boxes and trash cans, so someone had recently used the warehouse for shelter. A few feet away, next to an old rusted car, was a shredded picture. She picked up the pieces to get a better look.

"What did you find?" Jones asked walking up to her.

"A torn picture," Abbie answered.

"A torn picture?" he repeated, "weird place for it. Let's try and see who's on it."

Abbie nodded and got her tape out. It wasn't hard to put the picture back together with tape and in no time, they had the original image. It was of a young man and woman both with brown hair and matching grins on their faces.

"Wait a second, that's our victim on the picture!" Jones exclaimed, "she looks younger, but it's definitely Aileen."

"But who's the man with her . . ." Abbie wondered, "it's not her husband, that's for sure."

"Wait," he held up his hand, "did you hear that?"

The detective looked around for the source of the noise. It sounded like feet shuffling across stone growing louder and louder with each passing second. Hunter barked and they looked over to where she was face. A dark form was slowly emerging from the door way, sluggishly moving towards them.

"There's a man over there!" Jones stated.

Abbie held up the picture as the man walked into the light, "and he looks just like the man on the picture."

"HEY, YOU!" he ordered, "Grim PD, we need to talk to you!"

The man threw his hands in the air, "I didn't do anything wrong! I'm just crashing here for a few days, I didn't know this factory still belonged to someone!"

"Relax," Jones rolled his eyes, "we're not here to evict you."

"But the woman on this picture has just been killed," Abbie added holding the image up, "who was she to you?"

"Aileen . . . Aileen's dead?" the man asked.

"I'm sorry but oui, she was. Did you know her?" she asked.

"She's my wi- ex-wife," he caught himself, "she got a divorce and just disappeared, five years ago. I only managed to track her down to this town, and now she's dead?"

"Track her down?" Jones echoed, "were you stalking her?"

"No!" he denied, "look, I loved Aileen. I wanted to ask her for a second chance. But she wouldn't have anything to do with me, wouldn't even see me!"

"Alright," he nodded, "we may have more questions for you, Mr.?"

"Tom Hunt," Tom answered.

"Alright, Tom. Don't leave town," he warned.

They left the rundown warehouse and drove back to the station. They added the three people they had interviewed to their suspect line up, before heading down to see Nathan. The ME was waiting for them in his morgue, the rope used to tie-up Aileen spread out on his table.

"Your victim was beaten to death with a blunt object," Nathan informed, "my bet is on a baseball bat, but you'll have to find the murder weapon to be 100% sure."

"What about the rope?" Abbie questioned.

"The interesting thing is, she was tied up post-mortem," he held up some of the rope, "it's as if the killer wanted to subdue her even more. As if killing her hadn't been enough."

"What's our Profiler say about the killing?" Jones asked.

Nathan rolled his eyes, "haha. You're probably looking for someone who felt humiliated by Aileen. Someone who wanted to regain control over her."

"Anything else her body told you?" Abbie asked fixing her bracelet.

"I also found traces of alcohol on you victim's face. Whiskey to be exact. There was no alcohol in her blood, or even her mouth," he responded, "evidently, her attacker deliberately threw it at her face. Which means your killer drinks whiskey."

"Lots of people in this town seem to drink that stuff," she commented, "isn't this our second case with it as evidence?"

Jones shrugged, "it's a popular drink, not my favorite but I'll drink it."

"We'll take your word for it," she said sharing a look with Nathan, "let's add this to the report."

Jones and Abbie left the morgue and headed back up to their office. When they got in, Chief King was waiting for them at Abbie's desk.

"Abbie, why haven't you handed in your report yet?" King asked, "should I remind you how important Mrs. Greene's murder is?"

"No Alab," Abbie said, "believe me, I know how big a celebrity case is."

"Abbie, we both know you've got what it takes to close this case," he winked, "don't let Jones slow you down."

"Hey," Jones protested, "I'm not slo-"

"You are!" King barked, "anyway, Alden Greene wants to speak to you about this case, to "make sure" we are doing our best! Go see him, now!"

Their boss got up form his seat and marched out of the room. Jones and Abbie watched him leave their office in confusion.

"King sure is wound up tight today!" Jones commented, "we'd better recap what we have so far: Aileen was killed by someone who wanted control over her."

"Some who drinks whiskey," Abbie continued.

"And who wouldn't hesitate to kill a woman while her baby was in the room!" he added.

"Anything else?" she asked

"There've been complaints about strange noises coming from a disused garden, right across from the Greene's home," he recalled.

"We should go have a look at it," she suggested.

"And let's not forget to talk to Alden Greene too!" he grumbled, "King will have my hide if we don't!"

"But no one said we couldn't make him wait," she smirked.

"But didn't King say  _"now!"_  he mimicked.

"Yes, but we can just swing by the garden on the way to his office."

"I like the way you think."

They left the station and took the long way to Greene Holding's Headquarters, the path that took them past the disused garden and the Greene house. They parked the car in front of the empty house and unlatched the fence to get into the back yard. They looked around the unkept yard and found a baseball bat laying on the steps with a shoe print next to it.

"This baseball bat is covered in blood!" Jones remarked, "let's send it to Nathan straight away."

"And there's a shoeprint right next to it," Abbie said crouching down, "these can't be mere coincidences."

"Aileen's killer must have fled through this garden after the murder," he deduced, "we need to find out what kind of shoes they were wearing. Let's have a look at the database."

"On it," she replied getting out her laptop and scanner. She imputed a scanned copy of the shoeprint into her computer and pulled up the shoeprint database. She found the correct matches for the make up of the shoe and soon had the results ready.

"So, according to your expert comparison . . ." Jones looked over her shoulder, "our killer is wearing running shoes."

"We better start paying attention to our suspects' feet," Abbie said putting her stuff away.

"Mrs. Fusslepot spends her days in the Greens' home," he pondered, "she could probably fill us in about who in the family wears running shoes."

"And wouldn't ya no, she's right across the road," she smirked.

He chuckled, "your enjoying making Greene wait, aren't you?"

"You have no idea."

They dropped the baseball bat off in their car before walking across the street and entering the Greene house. Irma was in the sitting room with Oliver still in her arms. The baby was away and had stopped crying and he was no looking around with wide green eyes.

"Mrs. Fusslepot," Abbie said to the woman, "we need to know who in this family wears running shoes."

"I am a professional housekeeper, not a- a  _snitch_  as you say!" she huffed, "Mr. Greene evidently selected me more carefully than he did his wife!"

"Selected?" Jones echoed, "you really didn't like Mrs. Greene, did you? You seem to have nothing but contempt for her. And you are wearing running shoes, I notice."

"I . . ." she straightened herself, "I am on my feet 18 hours a day, taking care of this house and this baby. Running shoes aren't very fashionable, but they help me with my back pains."

"Well, we will be checking in with the rest of the family," he informed, "let's go, Doc."

They left the Greene house and left the area. They dropped the baseball off with Nathan before going over to the Greene Holding Headquarters. The receptionist directed them to the private elevator and the road it up to the top floor. Greene let them into his office with a glass of amber liquid in his hand.

"Detective Abbie, I'm glad you're on this case," Greene took a drink from his glass, "I wouldn't want anyone but the very best to handle this. I hope you don't mind me having a drink, but this sordid affair has quite shaken me up."

"Not at all," Abbie replied, making a mental note that he drinks whiskey.

"Look, I'm going to be very blunt. When my son decided to have a baby with a woman he knew almost nothing about, I hired a privet detective," he told them, "he quickly found out that Aileen had been a junkie, always getting into trouble with her ex-husband, a certain Tom Hunt. She got arrested for larceny, then divorced and came to Grimsborough to "reinvent" herself . . . with the help of my son's money, no doubt."

"People  _can_  change, you know," Jones informed, "did you let your son know about these discoveries?"

"No, but I was going to," Greene replied, "I discovered that her ex-husband had gotten in contact with her again, and I knew nothing good could come off it."

"We understand," Abbie said bring the conversation to an end, "if you have any more questions, you know how to contact us."

The detectives left the CEO's office and road down the luxury elevator to the lobby. They exited the building and got back into their car and Abbie turned onto he road.

"I could have done without Alden Greene putting his nose in this case," Jones huffed, "the man has serious control issues."

"More like a serious case of self appearance," Abbie grumbled.

"Hiring a private detective to spy on his daughter-in-law . . ." he shook his head, "what if he couldn't stand the thought that an ex-junkie had joined his prestigious family?"

"He could do almost anything to make her go away," she said turning onto the bridge.

"But I guess he's got a point too. Tom clearly came to Grimsborough to stalk Aileen. We should have a closer look at his squat, Abbie."

"One step ahead of you."

She steered the car towards the abandoned factory and parked outside the door. They pushed the broken wooden door aside and entered the dimly lit room. Abbie removed some wooden planks blocking the path and took a look around the room but the grimy mattress. Tucked in-between the cot and then stacks of boxes was a high quality reusable shopping bag. She slid it out and found it to be filled with fresh groceries.

"Okay, how did such a posh shopping bag end up here, of all places?" Jones asked.

"Let's have a look inside to find out," Abbie answered digging her hand into the bag.

She fished around the bag of produce until her fingers hit a piece of paper. She pulled it out and saw that it was the receipt for the purchases, paid for with a credit card.

"And this is why people should always keep their receipts in their shopping bags," Jones smirked, "makes our work so much easier."

"Let's send this credit card number to the lab," Abbie suggested, "and see who this bag belongs to."

They drove back to the police station and rushed the credit card number up to Alex to run through the database. Then Jones and Abbie went down to the basement to see Nathan.

"Your instinct was good, Abbie," Nathan informed her picking up the baseball bat, "I compared the baseball bat with Aileen's wounds, and they're a perfect match. This baseball bat is your murder weapon."

"Haha," Jones laughed, "I knew it!"

"Now," he smirked, "I trust you've already dusted the bat for fingerprints?"

His face fell, "of course we have, who do you take us for?! . . . but we'd like to have another look at the grip, just to be sure. Wouldn't we, Abbie?"

"Yup!" Abbie said ripping the bat out of Nathan's hand.

The coroner snickered, "and this is why I wear gloves."

Jones and Abbie shot him matching glares. Abbie got her powder kit out and dusted the grip of the bat with the carbon powder. She reviled around a dozen usable fingerprints, most seem to be different at a glance. She removed them one by one and transferred the prints onto a sheet of fingerprint paper.

She whistled, "okay. Not only did our killer just dump the murder weapon in a neighboring garden, but they didn't even think to wipe it clean?"

"Either we're dealing with the most clueless criminal in history, or this bat has been in regular use before the murder," Jones deduced.

"Either way," Nathan piped up, "you need to find out who touched that bat."

"There are way to may prints on the grip," Abbie said looking at her page, "I don't see how we could isolate just one for comparison."

"Let's send them all to Alex and see what he can dig up," Jones says giving the bat back to Nathan.

Abbie grabbed the sheet of fingerprints and her and Jones left the morgue. They took the elevator up to the top floor and walked down the hallways to the tech lab.

"Don't you have more of a challenge?" Alex complained when they came in, "my brilliant mind is wasted on such trifles as shopping bags and credit card numbers!"

"Cut it out, Alex," Jones ordered playfully, "what did you find?"

"Those groceries were purchased two days ago," he replied, "by non-other than you victim, Aileen Greene."

"If her shopping bag ended up in the factory," Abbie pondered, "it means she did go see Tom."

"Ooooh, I hate when people lie to us!" Jones fumed, "come on, let's go have another chat with him!"

They left Alex with the paper full on fingerprints from the baseball bat to run through the database while they went off to talk to Tom Hunt. They found him sitting on his mattress in the factory awing on a granola bar.

"If your ex-wife never came to visit you while you were here," Abbie crossed her arms, "how did she end up buying your groceries, Mr. Hunt?"

"Alright," Tom rubbed the back of his neck, "Aileen did come a couple times. She'd bring me food and whiskey, "for old time's sake."

"Did you know she wasn't short on money?" she asked.

"Oh, trust me, I did. I'm sure she only did it because she like to rub her money in my face!" he spat, "I've asked around, I know what family she married into! Anyway, she stopped coming weeks ago."

"Why?"

"I wasn't posh enough for her,  _oh no!"_  Tom barked, "she'd rather let me die with nothing to drink than come to see me!"

"And that's why you killed her?" Jones inquired, "because she wouldn't buy you whiskey anymore?!"

"Of course not! I never even went to her place!" Tom insisted, "Alden Greene is the kind of man who'd kill you for bothering his family, d'you think I'm nuts?!"

"I think that's the truest thing you've said to us yet," Abbie said, "and thanks for the information, Tom."

The man looked confused at her comment as the detectives left the factory. They got back into their squad car an Jones cellphone went off with a massage from Alex. The techie was requesting to video chat with them so Abbie got out her laptop and opened up the chat program.

"Okay guys, next time, just send me a doorknob," Alex joked as an opening, "they'll be just as many fingerprints on it than that baseball bat!"

"I though you said you wanted a challenge?" Abbie smirked.

He huffed, "it's been touched by everyone in the family, including the baby! And there are a lot more prints, too blurry to analyze."

"Can you tell who touched it last? Or the most?" she asked.

"The person who touched it the most is Scott Greene, by a long shot!" he laughed at his own pun.

"Scott Greene!" Jones exclaimed, "he's Paul Greene's son, form a previous marriage! Let's go talk to him, Abbie!"

"See ya, Alex," she said signing off.

Jones drove the car over to the Greene house and parked in front of the large building. They knocked on the door as they entered and asked Irma where Scott was. she directed them to the upstairs living room where Scott was studying for some tests.

"Scott, I'm Detective Abbie and this is my partner Jones," Abbie introduced, "we're investigation your step-mother's murder and we found your fingerprints all over the baseball bat she was killed with."

"Of course, my prints were all over that bat! It's  _my_  baseball bat! Dad gave it to me when I was 7, and I gave it to Oliver when he was born!" Scott glared, "look, if you think I've killed my step-mother, you're bonkers. Aileen was cool, and we got along just fine."

"Still, it can't be easy," Jones reasoned, "seeing your father replacing your mother, can it?"

"My mother died when I was 9. I got over it . . ." he didn't look to over it to them, "I'm just glad Oliver's alright. I hope he didn't see his mom die."

"Scott, if you don't mind me saying, your breath stinks of whiskey," he raised an eyebrow, "I know the day's been rough, but aren't you a little young to be drinking?"

"Fuck, I thought I'd gotten rid of the smell!" he cursed covering his mouth, "look, don't tell my dad, he'll flip out. I went to a party yesterday, and he hates it when I drink!"

"We have no reason to tell him," he reassured.

The detectives left the teenager to his studying and went back into the nursery to recap what they knew.

"Aileen Greene's death is a tragedy . . ." Jones sighed, "but I'm starting to think her life wasn't much better, Abbie!"

"No," Abbie agreed sadly, "it doesn't seem to have been."

"It seems the people who should have loved her and protected her all looked down on her, one way or another," he said looking around the baby's room, "would one of them have gone as far as killing her?"

"What should we do know?" she asked.

"We should retrace our steps . . ." he suggested, "there's a toy chest in here. I didn't search it, did you?"

"No, I completely forgot," she admitted.

"Well, this chest might hold the key to our puzzle!"

Abbie crouched down in front of the toy chest and lifted the lid. The chest was filled with all kinds of children's toys, stuffed animals, blocks, robots, and model vehicles. She saw something sticking up from in-between a rag doll and a set of building blocks. She pulled the item out and saw that she was holding a wad of bills, stained red with blood.

"Okay, I've got two questions," Jones says confused, "what are dollar bills doing in a baby's toy chest . . . and why are they covered in blood?!"

"Answer eon; no idea, answer two; bigger no idea," Abbie replied.

"At least we've got a way to answer the second question," he grinned, "let's collect a sample, Doc!"

She nodded and got her tools. It only took a moment to get a good sample off of the green bills. They bagged the evidence all together and rushed them to the lab for an express analysis.

_On blood examination, later . . ._

"So, Grace, what did the blood from the toy chest bills tell you?" Abbie asked.

"You say you found those dollar bills in a toy chest?" Grace looked shocked, "that's . . . odd. Even odder; the blood you found on them does not come from one person, but two."

"Really?" Jones questioned.

"Some blood is O+, like Aileen's . . . but I also found traces of the type A+," she explained, "only Aileen's killer could have gotten their blood mixed with hers."

"Which means our killer's blood type is A+!" Abbie finished.

"Thanks Grace!" Jones beamed, "Abbie, I wonder if Paul knew that that toy chest was being used as a piggy bank . . . what do you say we go ask him?"

"After you," she replied opening the sliding doors for him.

They drove over to the Greene house again to talk to Paul about his son's toy chest turned piggy bank. Paul was in the kitchen fixing himself a cup of tea on the stove.

"Mr. Greene," Abbie showed the man the bag of bloody dollar bills, "do you know why these bills were being kept in Oliver's toy chest?"

"Why would I keep money in my son's toy chest when my father owns the best bank in town?" Paul drawled.

"We think your wife did it," Jones elaborated, "it looks like her ex-husband was blackmailing her, and she probably didn't want you to know about this."

"You mean Hunt was asking her for money?" he asked in a growl, "on, that bastard! I knew I should have taken care of him when I first learned about him!"

"So, you knew about Tom Hunt?" he questioned, "did your father warn you?"

"No," he scoffed, "but do you really think I would marry a woman without making damn sure I knew who she was? I ran a background check on Aileen months ago!"

"So, you knew about her past life?" Abbie inquired.

Paul snorted in disbelief, "of course id did. I nearly called the wedding off, but she was already pregnant with my child, so I decided to just make sure she . . . behaved properly."

She narrowed her eyes, "I see . . . goodbye Mr. Greene."

Jones and Abbie left the house before they could get an angrier at Paul Greene and the rest of his family. They resisted the urge to slam the front door behind them and walked down the stone walk way to their car.

"Okay, seriously, what is wrong with the Greene family?" Jones demanded, "they all sound like cold-hearted monsters!"

"This is why I don't let fame go to my head," Abbie said under her breath.

He pulled out his phone, "but Paul won't get off scot-free!"

He scrolled through his contacts for the number he wanted and put the phone on speaker-phone as it rang. After a few rings, Ramirez picked up on the other end.

"Ramirez," the lovably cop answered.

"We want to know everything you can tell us about Paul Greene!" Jones ordered, "especially if he owns a pair of running shoes, and ever drinks whiskey!"

"You can count on me, guys!" Ramirez promised, "I'll get back to you as soon as I can!"

He hung up his phone and Jones stuffed it down his pocket. He turned to look at the house across form the Greene's own luxury sate in deep concentration.

"Now, Abbie, I think we should go back to the garden in which we found the murder weapon," he suggested.

Abbie nodded in agreement, "there was a treehouse there that we should probably have a look at."

They crossed the street and bypassed the wooden gate blocking the backyard from intruders. Abbie tugged on the rope ladder to make sure it was stable, before climbing up it to see what she could find. She had barely put her foot down when she spotted a ripped card wedged in-between two wooden planks. She slowly pulled out the pieces and passed them down to Jones. She then looked around a saw a telescope set up on the balcony.

"There's a telescope up here!" she called down to her partner.

Jones looked up, "so?!"

"It's an old-fashioned brass refractor telescope," she informed, "there used to view celestial objects, but they also work for distance land objects!"

"In English, please!" he sighed.

"You can see into space and things that are far away on the ground," she explained, "and, its pointed straight at the Greene's house!"

"Someone was spying on her!" he shouted, "can you find some fingerprints on it?!"

"Yes!" she yelled back. She got out her powder kit and dusted the eyepiece, focus knob, the tripod adjustment handle, and the diagonal prism. She found a full set of fingerprints and transferred them onto a page. She climbed back down the ladder and landed next to Jones.

"Got them?" he asked.

She handed him the paper, "a full set."

"The fingerprints are crystal clear!" he praised, "we should be able to find out who was hiding in the treehouse in no time. Especially since you have a knack for comparison. Care to give it a shot?"

"You know it," she smirked.

Abbie sat down on the ground next to Hunter on the ground and took out her laptop. She pulled out their suspects' fingerprint database and uploaded a picture of the prints. She matched parts of the swirls together and quickly found the owner of the fingerprints.

"The fingerprints on the telescope belong to Tom Hunt!" she gasped.

"So, he was the one who spied on Aileen!" Jones exclaimed.

"Appears so," Abbie replied putting her laptop away and started to piece together the baseball card.

"It seems he wasn't that scared of the Greene family after all," he glared, "and if he dared come that close to the house, what's to say he didn't actually go inside?"

"This blood might," she pointed out showing him the repaired card.

"Finding a baseball collector's card in a treehouse seems mundane . . ." he commented, "but this one looks quite old, and it's covered in blood!"

"I'm not much of a sports person, but even I can tell this must be worth something," she says scarping some blood off.

"We need to know who dropped this card here," he placed his hands on his hips, "I hope this blood sample will help Grace explain to us how this baseball card ended up in the treehouse!"

"Do you want to pick up Tom on the way?"

He nodded, "let's bring this creep to the station and put some pressure on him! It's time he stopped acting smarter than us!"

They swung over to the factory to pick up Tom Hunt on their way to the station. Jones led the homeless man to their interrogation room while Abbie and Hunter dropped the blood sample of with Grace for analyses. She ran back to the small room before her partner could tear a strip off of the poor man.

"You'd better not bullshit us this time, Tom!" Jones barked as Abbie opened the door, "Detective Abbie's patience is running thine, trust me!"

"Jones," Abbie slapped the back of his head, "don't use me as a threat. Or I'm kicking you out."

He rubbed the back of his head, "I was just getting warmed up."

She rolled her eyes, "out."

"But-"

 _"Out,"_  she pointed to the door. Jones pouted but did as he was told. He closed the door behind himself and Abbie took a seat across from Tom.

"I sorry for my partner, he can be . . . insensitive, at times," she apologized.

"I know the feeling . . ." Tom mumbled, "my mother was the same way."

Abbie chuckled, "guess we have something in common. But on to the reason you're here. Tom, we know you've been spying on Aileen. Your fingerprints were all over the telescope aimed at her house. The question I want answered is, why?"

"I only came to make sure she was really happy with her new life!" he insisted, "I just wanted to make sure!"

"I hate to say it, but watching her trough a telescope from a treehouse across the street, makes you seem a little, creepy," she admitted.

He bit his lip, "I would never hurt Aileen! . . . well, not that way, anyway."

"I'm not saying you killed her, I believe everyone is innocent until proven guilty and therefore I'm not bias. But what could you have gotten from watching her?"

"I needed the money, and she had lots! She should have helped me!!"

"Tom," Abbie looked him dead in the eye, "did you ever think Aileen couldn't help you, even if she wanted to?"

"Well . . ." Tom fidgeted with the ends of his sweater, "no."

"Take it from me, if her new husband was anything like the other money crazed man I knew, he wouldn't let his wife just throw it away, even if it meant helping someone who needed it," with this said, she stood up and left the homeless man to ponder over it.

Abbie and Hunter walked down the hallway to the office to find both Jones and Ramirez waiting for her. The field officer had a GPD file folder in his hand while he discussed something with the senior detective.

"Abbie!" Ramirez yelled seeing her, "I compared your killer's profile with Mr. Greene, like you asked me. It turns out he went running that morning, which means he was wearing running shoes!"

"Of course!" Abbie smiled, "Irma told us he had been out running, nice job putting the pieces together, Ramirez."

"Speaking of Irma . . ." Jones whispered.

The other three turned to see what he was looking at and they saw the Green's nanny seep walking over to them, Oliver clutched tightly to her chest.

"Detective Abbie!" Irma cried, "they told me you would be here. I need to speak with you, it's a matter of urgency!"

"What is it Irma?" Abbie asked.

"Dear me, I feel faint," she breathed, Ramirez and Jones guided her into a chair, "you wouldn't happen to have some strong liquor, around would you? I could use a drink of whiskey to sooth my nerves."

"As a rule, policeman try  _not_  to drink on the job, Mrs. Fusslepot," Jones informed her after sending Ramirez to get her a glass of water, "now, what did you have to tell us?"

"Here, take this," she pulled out a small snack baggie, "Oliver had been clutching it all day, but I couldn't get his hand opened before now!"

Abbie took the baggie, "hair?"

"And it's mattered in blood!" Jones exclaimed seeing the red stains inside the baggie, "we need to get this to the lab!"

On it!" she replied. They ran over to Grace's lab as Ramirez came back with Irma's glass of water. They sprinted into the room where the red-headed woman had just finished her analyses on the baseball card's blood.

"Another sample for you," Abbie handed her the baggie, "Oliver Greene was holding onto it all day."

"The baby held this hair in his hand? But that means . . ." Grace looked at the bloody hair, "this means the killer picked him up! How horrible!"

"So, your already able to tell us that heir belongs to Aileen's killer?" Jones asked wide-eyed.

"Well, I'll need to do more tests, but I'm almost positive about this," she replied slipping on a pair of gloves.

"What about the blood form that baseball card?" Abbie asked.

"The blood on the card belongs to your victim," Grace reported opening the baggie.

"So, this card is connected to Aileen's murder!" Jones cheered, "I knew you were right, Doc!"

"Now all we need to know is how is this card connected to her murder?" Abbie pondered.

"Personally, I'm still confused," he scratched his head, "but since Scott Greene seems to like baseball, maybe he can tell us more about this card."

"Let's go," she says grabbing the collector's baseball card.

The detectives left Grace to her work and left the station. Jones drove the squad car while Abbie and Hunter sat in the passenger seat. They pulled into the Green's driveway about ten minutes later and got out. They entered the house and walked up the stairs to the second floor where Scott was still sitting in a chair studying.

"Scott," Abbie got the teen's attention and held out the bloody card, "what can you tell us about this card?"

Scott gulped, "where- where did you find this card?"

"We believe this is connected to your step-mother's murder," Jones replied, "does it belong to you?"

"No! I mean, no," he cleared his throat, "it's a super rare card, worth millions of dollars! I  _wish_  it was mine!"

"I take it you're a fan of baseball, Scott?" he questioned.

"Of course, I'm a fan. Me, my dad, and my granddad, we never miss a game," he answered.

"What about Aileen?" Abbie asked.

"Aileen didn't care for it," Scott scoffed, "she didn't understand how great this game is."

"Thank you for your time, Scoot," she said pulling Jones away. They walked to the end of the hall and ducked into the nursery to have a private conversation.

"First things first," Jones whispered, "did you look at Scott's feet?"

Abbie nodded, "he was wearing running shoes."

"Mind you, all kids are wearing them these days," he rolled his eyes, "now, about this baseball card. If he's telling the truth and this card really is worth that much money . . ."

"Then Aileen's killer must be a fan of baseball!" she finished for him as he cellphone went off, "Murphy."

"Abbie, it's Grace," the other female team member said, "I got the results form the hair Oliver was holding."

"Did it belong to the killer?" she asked pulling the phone away so that Jones could hear.

"Yes. The colour was the same as Aileen's but a simple microscope comparison showed the hair did not come from her head," Grace told them, "if I had more time, I might be able to give you a partial DNA profile, but I know your always in a hurry . . ."

"We do like to act fact," Jones laughed, "but at least we know our killer has got brown hair, and that's always useful!"

"Thanks, Grace," Abbie said hanging up the cellphone.

"This is it, Doc!" he grinned, "we have got everything we need to put Aileen's killer behind bars."

"And we don't even have to leave the house," she said pulling out her cuffs.

Jones looked confused but silently fallowed her out of the nursery. She walked down the hallway back to Scott Greene as she unlocked the hand cuffs with her key.

"Scott Greene, we have proof you killed your step-mother with a baseball bat," Abbie informed the teen, "but what we want to know, is why?"

"To protect Oliver, and my dad, and my family! Aileen was trash! My grandfather always said do!" Scott shouted, "I saw her hiding money in Oliver's toy chest, I knew she was stealing! She was stealing our money to give it to that horrible guy! She even stole my baseball card; the one grandfather gave to me! And when I asked for it back, she TORE IT UP!!"

"Scott!" Paul Green thundered up the stairs cutting his son's confession off, "stop talking this instant!"

The father rounded on Abbie, "Detective Abbie, my son will not speak another word until he has a lawyer, as is his right!"

"Of course," Abbie said putting the cuffs on Scott's wrists, "Scott Greene, you're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say . . ."

_In a press filled Court House . . ._

"Scott Greene, you have bee brought before this Court for the murder of Aileen Greene," Judge Hall address the young man on trial, "because of the severity of the crime, you shall be tried as an adult. Do you have anything to say for your defense?"

"Do you know who my father is?" Scott boomed, "I will not go to jail, I will not! You're risking your career with this, lady!"

"Scott, please sit down," Gerald Young ordered his client.

"I think this is the first time the lawyer has actual talked during the verdict," Jones whispered to his partner.

Abbie nodded, "we don't see many during the course of the main investigation."

"Your Horner," Gerald stood to address Judge Hall, "as Mr. Greene's lawyer, I want it to be clear that we shall appeal this judgment! This case is full of irregulating!"

"What," Jones leapt to his feet red-faced, "so you intend to bury this murder under a mountain of paper work, is that it?!"

"Silence in the Court! Officer Jones, you'd do well to remember where you are," Judge Hall shot him a warning glare, "and Mr. Young, you should remember that Detective Abbie is one of our best officers. She has amply proved Scott's involvement in this case! Therefore, Scott Greene, this Court condemns you to 20 years in jail!"

"Don't worry, Scott, my lawyers will get you out in a matter of days!" Alden Greene assured his grandson, "keep your chin up!"

The press cameras snapped pictures as Scott Greene was led away in cuffs out of the Courtroom. The guards worked to keep them behind the gate and herded them out through the main doors. Jones and Abbie fallowed behind the crowed to get outside into the crisp evening air. The male detective zipped up his coat to keep the cold air off him.

"Well, I don't know about you, Abbie, but I'm glad I'm not part of the Green family!" he shivered, "rich people can really get away with murder these days!"

"Among other things," Abbie agreed.

"I really hope that slimy lawyer won't get Scott out of jail!" he growled.

"Have faith," she calmed him, "the Judicial System won't let Scott go unpunished."

"Your right," he smiled, "I have to have faith in the Judicial System! It won't let him off so easily!"

_The next morning . . ._

"Abbie, splendid work as always," Chief King praised once the Canadian and American were in his office, "with a cop like you, Grimsborough is in good hands!"

"Thank you, Alab," Abbie beamed.

"Your work is not quite done, however. Alden Green has been asking for you. You may find him in front of his son's house," he reported, "Mrs. Fusslepot has also requested your help. She sounded distressed; I think something is wrong with the baby."

"We're on it, Chief!" Jones answered for the both of them, "Abbie, I'd also like to see how Tom Hunt is doing. He looks like a man who needs help!"

"Let's go there first then," Abbie suggested.

They left the Chief of Police's office and climbed into their car parked in the underground parking lot. Abbie turned the key and the engine roared to life as she pulled out into the over cast day. They drove across the bridge into the Industrial Area and navigated their way to the abandoned factory. Jones pushed the wood blocking the doorway aside and they entered the dimly lit room.

"Tom?" Abbie called out to the man sitting on his coat.

"Detective Abbie, why are you all purple?" Tom giggled, "and why do you have wings? Such pretty, pretty wings . . ."

"What the . . ." Jones marched up to the man and snapped his fingers in front of him, "Tom? Tom?!"

Both the homeless man didn't respond to the detective's attempts. He just kept staring at the woman in front of him and her pretty wings.

"He's completely stoned!" he declared.

"Well, we can't just leave him like this!" Abbie argued.

He sighed, "I can't say that I like the guy, but your right. let's have a look around, see what kind of drugs the idiot took."

"I'll look, you guard," she decided.

Jones stood a safe distance from Tom encase he turned violent while Abbie looked around the area for any drug paraphernalia. There were burnt out matches scattered on the concrete and near the corner of the wall she found a pile of broken glass that looked to be from a glass pipe.

"Hey, be careful with that!" Jones warned seeing what his partner found, "God knows what those pieces of glass have been used for."

Abbie smirked, "don't worry, I'll have this fixed in a flash."

She kneeled down as she slipped on a pair of thick rubber gloves. It was challenging to glue the thin pieces of glass back together, but she managed to get the smoking pipe repaired after a few minutes. She picked it up and brought t over to Jones.

"I don't know how you managed to go that fast while trying not to cut yourself," Jones smiled relived, "but I'm glad your unharmed."

"Like a little glass is going to put me out of commission," Abbie smirked back, "no doubt this is the pipe Tom used to smoke drugs."

"Let's send it to Grace," he says as she got out s bag for the pipe, "I want to make sure he's not going to die on us!"

"Ah . . ." she looked past her partner, "where is he?"

Jones whipped around. Tom had managed to sneak away while they were talking and there was no sign of the man. Hunter tried to sniff him out, but with all the strong smells inside the factory, it was hard to pin-point on the one belonging to him.

"Well," Jones sighed, "looks like we'll have to hope he's here when we come back."

"You want to leave him?!" Abbie cried.

"No," he lied, "how 'bout I call Ramirez to come stay on guard?"

She thought about it, "deal."

Once their team mate had got there and they briefed him on the situation, Jones, Abbie and Hunter left the factory to go check on Irma and Alden. They got back to the Greene house and saw no signs of Alden being in front of his son's home, but a black Rolls Royce Phantom was parked in front of the house across the street. They agreed on making Alden wait a while and help Irma first.

They found the nanny up in the nursery with baby Oliver still in her arms. She had a towel draped over her shoulder where the baby was resting his head as he whiled and banged his tiny fists against his nanny.

"Detective Abbie, I'm so glad you could come!" Irma said sounding panicky, "I'm at my wits end. Oliver keeps throwing up and the family doctor cannot come for another three hours. I'm awfully worried!"

"How would you like us to help?" Abbie asked.

"I'm sure Oliver must have eaten something when I put him to bed," she gestured to the crib, "but I can't find it!"

"Doc, we must help little Oliver!" Jones announced, "let's go have a look around his bedroom. Whatever he ate, it must still be here!"

"You're a doctor?" Irma asked Abbie.

Abbie smiled apologetically, "not the kind you need, sorry."

Irma left the room to give the officers more space to look around. Abbie asked Hunter to sniff around for anything that did belongs in the room. The dog got to work checking in the closet and under and behind the furniture for anything unusual. Hunter walked behind the toy chest and started to bark. Jones and Abbie joined her and saw that she had found a dish filled with seeds.

"Why is there a dish full of seeds in the baby's room?" Jones wondered picking it up.

"No idea," Abbie said giving Hunter a treat.

"Let's collect a sample, Doc!"

Abbie took the dish and using her tweezers, sifted trough the seeds for anything that looked strange. She pulled out a few of the blue pelts mixed in with the seeds and dropped them into a Petri dish.

"One sample, ready for analyses," she said holding it up.

"Good," Jones nodded, "now let's send this sample to Grace and see if this is what made Oliver sick."

Jones agreed to run the samples over to the station while Abbie went across the road to talk to Alden Greene. She wasn't to thrilled to be talking to the man alone, so she kept Hunter by her side as she walked across the street to the front lawn where the CEO was waiting.

"Detective Abbie! You're always so prompt, that's one of the things I like about you," Alden laughed, "I wont lie. I'm a little upset about the results of your investigation. I'm sure my grandson is innocent of this horrible crime."

"The jury says otherwise," Abbie countered. The CEO didn't reply, only took an extra long drag from his cigar.

"Now, for the matter at hand. I intend to purchase this property, but the For-Sale sign seems to have gone missing, and with it, the number I need to call!" e explained, "I'm not allowed to rummage through private property, but you are, aren't you? I'd really appreciate your help, Detective!"

"Anything to help a citizen," she said through clenched teeth.

Abbie and Hunter left Alden out front to go look through the backyard. The human and dog split up to search the ground for the sign. There was nothing stuck in the ground, nor underneath the deck. But there was a pile of dead leaves raked up next to the treehouse ladder.

"Hello old friend, it's been a while," Abbie whispered pushing the damp leaves aside. Under the pile of dead foliage was an old wooden sign, smashed apart. She rolled her eyes and mended the sign back together.

"What do you think, Hunt?" Abbie asked holding up the sign, "think this is the For-Sale sign Alden is looking for?"

Hunter barked.

"Your right," she looked at the name listed for the relator, "it's Dave Simmons!"

The dog tilted her head.

"Right," she laughed, "we weren't partners yet, he was a suspect in my second case! . . . so many memories . . . I just hope there isn't a dead body in this house!"

"Arf!"

"I know, I know. We have to go give the sign back to Alden."

They walked out of the backyard, closing the wooden gate behind them to minimizes the chances of people trespassing. Alden was waiting for them by his luxury car, scrolling through his phone.

"Here you go, Mr. Greene," Abbie said handing him the sign, "now that you have the For-Sale sign, you know who to contact for the sale. Although, I'd beware if Dave Simmons. I've dealt with him in the past, and there's something fishing with him."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Detective Abbie," Alden replied tucking the sign under his arm, "this neighbourhood will be much safer once this old house is demolished!"

"You're going to tear it down?" she asked wide-eyed.

"Of course," he affirmed, "think what you may, Aileen was killed by a murderer. I intend to turn this place of land into a house for when Scott comes of age."

"The kid kills a woman, and gets a house?!" she questioned, "something I pray to Allah for this world."

Alden and Abbie went their separate ways before an argument could break out. The chain-smoking man got into his car and drove off while the hijab wearing woman crossed the road with the K-9 dog. Her cellphone went off as she reached the sidewalk.

"Murphy," Abbie answered.

"Hey Doc," Jones said from the speaker, "Grace is with me, and she's not happy!"

"The dish you found in the baby's room was filled with rat poison!" Grace boomed, "what kind of  _monster_  would put rat poison where a baby may eat it?!"

"I could name a few," Abbie replied.

"You need to warn Mrs. Fusslepot at once," she advised, "the baby must be brought to a doctor as soon as possible!"

"I hear you," she said already running to the door, "what about that pipe?"

"Whoever used this pipe needs to stop immediately," she explained sadly, "they've been smoking some very low-quality crack."

"I can't say I'm surprised," Jones chimed in, "Tom looked like hell when we spoke to him. We need to take him to the hospital!"

"I know a very good doctor there, Andy Choi," Grace told them, "I'll call him and tell him to join you at the factory to take Mr. Hunt away."

"Sounds like a plan," Abbie agreed walking up the stairs, "I'll finish up here and Jones can pick me up on the way to the factory."

She hung up her cellphone as she reached the top floor. Abbie and Hunter sprinted down the hallway to the nursery where Irma had just put Oliver down into his crib for a nap.

"Mrs. Fusslepot, you must take Oliver to the hospital!" Abbie panted, "he may have eaten rat poison!"

"Goodness! That would have been terrible!" Irma gasped, "thankfully, this was nothing as serious. Oliver has calmed down, look! He's sleeping soundly now."

Abbie and Hunter creeped up to the crib and peeked in from over and in-between the bars. The small infant was on his back sleeping peacefully making small movements with his hands as he dreamed. Hunter stuck her nose through the bars and gently nudged the hand, her way of saying, I like you.

"Goodnight, Oliver," Abbie whispered pulling away from the crib.

"You were awfully kind to help me out, Detective Abbie," Irma smiled, "I'd like to thank you properly. Have you had lunch today?"

"I haven't," she replied.

The nanny led her out of the nursery, closing the door behind them, and to the kitchen. Paul was out of the house, hadn't been back since Scott's trial, so there was no one else in the house. Irma threw together a large pasta salad big enough for the both of them. After a quick lunch, Abbie bid Irma a good day and her and Hunter left the house to wait for Jones.

The American detective arrived shortly after they got outside, and Abbie and Hunter hopped into the car and they drove off to the factory. When they got there, they met Grace's friend Dr. Andy Choi outside where he was waiting for them by his ambulance. They went inside and relived Ramirez of his watch duty on Tom.

"Tom, can you hear us?" Abbie asked crouching down in front of the man, "you've almost overdosed on crack. There is a doctor here with us, he will take care of you."

"Alright, officers, let me handle this!" Andy shooed them off, "I'm used to taking care of drug addicts in this town!"

"Haha, this guy's got a tomato for a head!" Tom laughed holding his stomach, "I wanna take a bit!"

"Now, Tom, my head isn't ripe yet," he explained as if talking to a small child, "but come with me, I'll take you to a great vegetable garden!"

Jones looked worried, ". . . are doctors supposed to be as crazy as their patients?"

"Tom is in good hands, Detective Abbie," Andy told her, "he'll be better in a, matter of days, thanks to you."

"I hope he can move on in his life," Abbie prayed leading them out while Jones helped Andy carry Tom out.

When they got outside they found that another car had pulled up along side the ambulance. When they neared the emergency vehicle, the door to the teal impala opened and a man stepped out. Jones's and Abbie's face lit up.

"Sam!" they both exclaimed.

"Well lookie here!" the ex-homeless man grinned, "if it isn't my two favorite detectives! I should have known it was you two who called Andy about this."

"Huh?" Jones asked.

"Sam here has recently founded a help center for people in need, The Lilith Hope Center," Andy explained, "I'm one of the doctors who volunteers there, its small but its growing quickly."

"Like a weed!" Sam laughed, "I never thought it would help so many so fast. Most of the people from the camp have found jobs and homes of their own."

"You must be proud," Abbie smiled.

"I am," he nodded, "now, this man needs help, from doctors, and me."

They got Tom into the ambulance and onto the gurney. Andy promised to keep the updated and he drove off to the hospital whit Sam fallowing behind in his car.


	22. Kiss of Death

"I can't believe how many people dress up for Halloween!" Abbie remarked as she, Jones, and Hunter walked through the downtown square.

"I can't believe you dressed up for it!" Jones said fixing his fedora.

He had chosen to dress up as Inspector Gadget with the gray trench coat, matching fedora, blue tie and the fake PI badge in his pocket. Abbie had gone dressed as Lydia Deetz from the Beetlejuice animated series, she had on the signature red spider web poncho and had tied half her hair up in a ponytail with a purple ribbon to mimic the girl's hairstyle. Hunter was even dressed up as Zero form The Nightmare Before Christmas swearing a white sheet with a small orange jack-o-lantern attached at the nose.

She grinned, "I never pass up the opportunity to dress up, even if I don't celebrate Halloween."

"Yeah, but Lydia Deetz? You could have gone as Penny and we'd be a pair!" he whined.

"I could have also gone as Dr. Claw," she countered, "but then I'd just be wearing a glove. Besides, Lydia is better."

"You didn't strike me as a Beetlejuice fan," he says as they stopped at Alfred's hot-dog cart.

"You kidding? It was the only show I watched as a kid!" she exclaimed.

"One five alarm dog, one veggie dog, and one paddy for the dog," Alfred says already lining their food on the counter.

Jones laughed, "I'll never understand how you always have our food ready before we even order, Alf."

"Natural gift," the older man smiled, "that'll be 16 dollars."

Jones payed the man and they continued their walked through downtown. They reached the decorated town square with people dressed in costume all over chatting on their way to work. Jones and Abbie stopped at the edge to the square next to one of the high-rise buildings munching on their hot-dogs.

"I don't care if a psychopath with a chainsaw runs past us," Jones mumble through his pieces of food, "I'm not doing anything until we've eaten our hot-dogs!"

 _"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!"_  a female voice screamed.

**SPLAT!!!**

Jones and Abbie looked to where the impact had happened and saw a woman laying on the ground, her limbs bent oddly and blood forming a pool underneath her. People all around stopped what they were doing to gawk at the sight.

"What the!?!" Jones yelped, "did a woman just fall out of a building window!?!"

"Those windows are tempered glass," Abbie informed, "they can't be broken by falling into them."

"You're right, Doc," he moved back to get a look at the broken window, "I think we have a murder to investigate!"

"I'll call Nathan," she said getting her phone out, "you want to rope off the scene?"

"Toss me the tape," he replied holding his hands up.

She got the yellow police tape out of her bag and tossed it to him while finding Nathan's number in her contacts. After a quick conversation, he said he would be there in ten minutes with his van and some field officers. Abbie hung up her cellphone and got to work looking for clues while Jones ordered people off of the crime scene.

Abbie and Hunter split up to search for clues. The detective checked around where the woman's body had landed and found a cracked tablet computer. She pressed the home button and discovered that it had survived the fall, but was locked. The code to unlock it came to her head and she quickly typed it into the tablet. She held onto it as she continued to look around and found a yellow pad of sticky notes had also fallen from the office window.

As Abbie picked up the pad of papers, Hunter ran over with a card in her mouth. The Muslim took the card and saw that it was a driver's license with the victim's face on it and her information.

"Good job, Hunt," Abbie praised, "you found out that our victim's name is Emma Ternon . . . and she looked really beautiful . . ."

"All this broken glass proves the woman was pushed right through that window!" Jones says as the glass crunched under he shoes, "the autopsy might tell us more."

"Nathan says he's coming with more officers," she told him, "and her name is Emma Ternon."

He nodded, "one other thing's for sure; there's no need to look for a murder weapon as Emma was obviously defenestrated!"

"And even if she didn't survive, her tablet did," Abbie showed her partner.

"Have you noticed the wallpaper on Emma's tablet?" he asked.

She turned it around, "it's the logo for a company called Glamm Modeling."

"Since we have this tablet at hand, let's do a quick search on it . . ." he suggested taking the device. He pulled up the web browser and typed in the company's name. He found the link to Glamm Modeling and started to skim the information about the company.

"Here we go," he said after a minute of reading, "Glamm Modeling is headed by a woman called Rozalina Davidov. Let's go ask this woman if Emma worked for her, shall we?"

"I think we should hold off on that," Abbie told him reading what she had uncovered on the stick note, "she had a meeting with Rachel Priest at this exact location!"

"We haven't seen Rachel since she was reporting on that bomb threat, but it looks like she's been keeping busy!" he grumbled checking his watch, "well, Emma made it on time . . . only dead! And Rachel's five minutes late. Let's keep our eyes open, I bet she'll be here any minute now."

Rachel and Carl came onto the scene a couple minutes later. Abbie asked them to wait off to the side after she informed them of what had happened. Nathan and the officers who had come to relive them arrived shortly afterwards and they left the crime scene in their capable hands to go talk to Rachel.

The reporter had gotten dressed up as Jane from Tarzan with the yellow dress, white gloves, beige hat and yellow parasol. Carl went with Milo from Atlantis wearing the kaki pants and trench coat. His ever-present camera was on his shoulder, looking out of place with the rest of his costume.

"I was meant to meet up with Emma Ternon aright about now," Rachel explained o them, "and you're telling me she's dead?!"

"Did you know here well?" Jones asked.

"Not that I "have" to tell you," she rolled her eyes, "but I got a call form Emma this morning; she sounded scared, like her life was in danger."

"Why would she have been in danger?" Abbie inquired.

"She said she had some sensitive information that would make the biggest news story of my career . . ." Rachel's face suddenly lit up, "do you realize that if she was killed because of the information she had, this story could be  _huge!"_

"Well, for now the information she had, will be police property once discovered," she informed, "and unless we realise it, it can't be made public, Rachel."

She pouted, "I know . . . but don't think I won't try to get around it."

"I know you won't," she chuckled.

Rachel and Carl left the scene to get the statements form the public who had witnessed Emma's fall from the window.

"Rachel's keeping information from us!" Jones spat, "how about we search her workplace to find out what she's hiding exactly?"

"Let's go!" Abbie agreed.

They walked a few blocks to grab their squad car before driving over to the Grim News headquarters. The elevator was broken so they had to take the stairs up to the top floor where Rachel's office space was. The building was surprisingly big with four floors each around 84 meters long and 36 meters wide. They got to the top floor and entered the large sunlit space with desks placed around the room and monitors on the walls broadcasting live news feeds from all over the country and world.

"Wow, the Grim News office is huge!" Jones remarked looking around, "if Rachel is hiding something about our victim, she's certainly chosen the right place to hide it!"

"Even in this space, I'll still find something," Abbie smirked confidently. Jones stayed back by the elevator and looked at the plaques on the wall displaying various reporters' achievements. Abbie stood with her back to him and stared at the room. She scanned the room for anything that looked helpful, and a thick stack of file folders sat on one of the desks and she walked over to pick the papers up off of a desk.

"Well these look promising," Abbie said flipping through them.

"You've got an eye for detail, Doc," Jones praised joining her, "given how big this office is, I'd never have found Rachel's research files!"

"My eyes aren't only for detail," she says as she pulled out a think file folder that was different from the rest. Emma Ternon's picture was paperclipped to the cover, "take a look at this."

She gave the file to her partner to read while she put the rest of them back on the desk. Jones skimmed through its contents and made a shocking discovery.

"All these notes from Rachel's research file are about Emma!" he exclaimed, "why did Rachel refuse to tell us about any of this?"

"Rachel likes to keep her stories secret until she's ready," Abbie mused, "if Emma's information could make as big of a story as she claims, then Rachel wouldn't even want to admit it to us."

"C'mon, Doc," he snapped the file shut, "I think it's time we get the full story form our news reporter!"

"Which news reporter?" Rachel asked as she entered the room, Carl absent from her side.

"Rachel, we've got proof that you knew Emma . . ." Jones held up the file for her to see, "you could have saved us a lot of time by telling us right away!"

"I didn't have to tell you," she protested, "you should know that journalists have the right to keep their sources secret!"

"And you should know that with holding information can land you in  _jail!"_  he yelled.

Abbie placed her hand on his arm, "Jones, relax. Please, Rachel, this isn't a game. Tell us what Emma knew."

"Emma was my informant," Rachel confessed looking truly sad, "as a model, she had access to all the big parties in this town . . .and she heard a lot of things . . . she promised me the biggest story of my career! But now my only chance of still getting a scoop is by finding Emma's killer . . ."

"It's Detective Abbie's job to catch killers, Rachel, not yours!" Jones reminded, "don't ever forget that!"

"We will be in touch," Abbie told the reporter leading Jones out of the office before he could get any angrier.

The detectives walked down the stairwell with the K-9 dog fallowing by Abbie's side. They got to the ground floor and walked out into the crisp Halloween air, colourful leaves blowing past them as they made their way over to their car.

"It sounds like Emma had a that story news reporters could kill for . . ." Jones sighed getting into the passenger seat, "Doc, what if Rachel killed Emma to make her news story more sensational? After all, death sells!"

"She's only our second suspect," Abbie refreshed his memory, "and we still have to talk to Rozalina about if she knew Emma."

"I'll call her in," he volunteered pulling out his cellphone from his trench coat pocket.

By the time they made it back to the station, Ramirez, who was dressed up as a Ghostbuster, informed them that Rozalina Davidov had arrived five minutes prior and he had put her in their interrogation room for them. Jones and Abbie thanked him before going to the room to talk to the modeling woman.

Rozalina had also dressed up for Halloween. The woman had gone as Darkstar a.k.a Laynia Petrovna. She wore a skin tight black and yellow suit with a yellow star in the center of her chest and a headband going around her forehead and under her lose hair.

"Rozalina," Abbie greeted the woman taking the seat across from her, "how well did you know Emma Ternon?"

"Emma was the golden egg of the company, always in demand . . . she'll be hard to replace," Rozalina sighed, "but I'm not surprised that she's dead. She was a successful model and was always going out to all the high-end parties . . ."

"Why do you say that?" she questioned.

"She just loved flirting with the rich and powerful of this town and it often got her into trouble," she smirked wickedly, "if you ask me, one of them finally got sick of her little game and killed her."

"We'll keep that in mind," she promised, "thank you for your time, Rozalina."

Abbie and Hunter showed the woman out while Jones waited for them by the elevator. Once she joined him, they road down the shaft to the underground floor to see what Nathan found. When they entered the morgue, the ME was still cutting into their body with his back to them and creepy music was playing on his radio. He turned around hearing the door slid open holding his bloody scalpel and toothed forceps. His surgical gown and mask were still on, his hands and chest covered in the crimson liquid.

Jones shirked in fear and leapt into Abbie's arms. The woman caught him with ease and braced her feet to keep her balance. Hunter looked at the frighten detective with a disappointed look only a dog in a ghost costume could give.

"Every year," Nathan breathed putting his tools down.

"Stop being so scary on Halloween! The party isn't for another 12 hours!" Jones cried hugging his partner.

"I'm not!" he protested, "you got to stop coming here when I'm in the middle of an autopsy!"

"What's going on?" Abbie asked shifting Jones's weight in her arms.

"Every year on Halloween," Nathan turned back around picking up his needle and thread, "he comes to get my autopsy report when I'm in the middle of finishing up, and each time he freaks out at the sight."

"Well sorry if I can't stand the sight of you cutting into a body!" Jones yelled.

Abbie rolled her eyes and dropped him, "I didn't realize we were going as Shaggy and Scooby."

He grunted and rubbed his butt, "ow . . . what did you find, Nathan?"

"If your victim had fallen from any higher there wouldn't be anything left to autopsy!" Nathan told them stitching Emma's body up, "luckily Emma's lips were very talkative: the killer gave her a kiss right before pushing her out that window!"

"Sometimes I wonder if you talk to them after they die," Abbie shook her head smiling.

"No, I just work some magic," he chuckled, "which is very lucky for us because now we know that your killer uses lip balm!"

"It's very common for people to use it," she pondered, "especially during colder months."

"Good thing I found something else," he cut off the last stich, "I also found traces of raw fish on Emma's lips, yet her medical files show she is allergic. This can only mean its your killer who is a fan of raw fish; sushi to be exact."

"Brrr, I can't believe the killer gave Emma one last kiss goodbye before casually pushing her through that window!" Jones shivered, "what a sicko!"

Nathan walked over to the sink to clean up, "you know murderers have been sicker."

"Yeah," he agreed, "what do you think Emma was thinking of during those last few seconds as she was falling?"

"I think we should focused on catching our killer," Abbie reminded.

"Which reminds me, Alex wants to talk to you, Doc; he thinks he may have found something more about the victim," he recalled, "he's so proud of his latest discovery, you'd think he just invented the wheel."

Abbie laughed, "hopefully he really does have a lead. See ya later, Nathan."

They left the morgue to head upstairs to see what Alex had found for them. Their resident tech geek was dressed as the 4th Doctor from Doctor Who with the wide brim hat, 12 foot-long multi coloured scarf and brown trench coat.

"I've got some great news!" Alex spun around in his chair to face them, "I did some digging into the modeling agency Emma worked for . . ."

He spun back around and pulled up a logo on his monitor, "and it turns out Glamm Modeling is actually a front for an escort company!

"Emma was a call girl?!" Jones clarified.

"According to her diary on her tablet, she was out working last night!" he informed them typing on the keyboard, "she even mentioned the name of her client; Richard Dobbs. Apparently, he's a successful plastic surgeon."

"Abbie, what do you say we escort this Richard to our interrogation room?" Jones asked his partner smirking.

"You call him in," Abbie replied, "we should also search Rachel's desk; she must have known about Emma, so she must have more information."

"And we both know she'll only tell us over her dead body," he grumbled putting his cellphone to his ear.

When Richard Dobbs arrived at the station, they sat him in their interrogation room with a picture of Emma in front of him. The plastic surgeon was dressed up as Richard Castle, with the blue dress shirt, black slacks and shoes and the fake bullet proof vest with the word "WRITER" in white block letters. The only thing wrong with the outfit was that he was still wearing his white lab coat for work.

"We heard you hired Emma last night," Abbie told the man standing while Jones sat in the chair.

"Yeah, I totally hired Emma's services last night," Richard flashed a dazzling smile, "she's great as eye-candy; it distracted the other poker players all night!"

"So, Emma was with you the whole night?" Jones asked.

He nodded, "but if I wasn't so rich already, I would've asked for a refund on Emma because the whole night at the casino was ruined by this old hag."

"Old hag?" he repeated.

"This crazy old bitch kept screaming at Emma. Apparently, she was convinced she had to kill her for good luck!" he growled, "ahhh, I'm going to miss Emma . . . it'll be hard finding an escort as good as her."

"Thank you for stopping by," he says through clenched teeth, "that'll be all."

Abbie and Hunter showed Richard out of the office while Jones added the arrogant man to their suspect line up. She came back to find him glaring at the doctor's smiling picture.

"It's a shame that being an asshole isn't enough to lock someone away for life . . ." Jones complained.

"On the bright side," Abbie closed the program on the screen, "he did give us a possible new suspect. Better check it out."

"Good idea, Doc!" he cheered up, "let's go to the casino and see if we can't find this old lady Richard was talking about!"

"Let's swing by Rachel's office first," she suggested, "I heard there was an accident on the Maple Height's bridge, the kind of thing she'd be all over . . ."

He smirked as he fallowed her and the ghost dressed dog out. They drove over to the Grim News building and were happy to see that the elevator had been fixed. They road it up to Rachel's office floor, exiting when it dinged open.

"Wow," Jones stopped in his tracks looking at the room, "it looks like there's been a break in, unless Rachel did this . . ."

"I don't see Rachel tearing her office apart, unless she was hiding something," Abbie whispered walking around.

She found the desk with Rachel's name plat on it and looked around the messy area. A sliver necklace caught her eye and she pulled it out from under some papers, a broken computer hard drive also grabbed her attention from inside the trash can and she pulled the pieces out.

"Found something!" Abbie called over to Jones.

He jogged over to her, "great work, Abbie! You know something? I've got the strong feeling this break-in was done by the killer!"

"You're a real-life Inspector Gadget," she teased.

"I mean, look at this necklace!" he chose to ignore her joke, "it has Emma's name on it! I don't know if the killer left it here by accident, but they're sure gonna regret it once we've scanned it for clues!"

"And the killer also smashed Rachel's hard drive," she said piecing it back together.

"A pointless task because you'll fix it in seconds!" he laughed as she did just that, magic has its benefits.

"Let's get this to the lab," she said bagging the hard drive, "maybe we'll be able to find out why the killer wanted it destroyed so badly."

"And who knows?" Jones laughed, "if Alex doesn't use it to play video games, we might actually learn something about the victim!"

She just groaned and shoved the bag into his hands. She pulled out her tools to find something on the necklace. She checked the name for anything strange and found a slick white residue inside the groves of the letters. She dropped the sample onto a micro slide for analyses.

"I'm impressed you managed to find something on Emma's necklace," Jones smirked, "but we can't do much without knowing what substance it makes up."

"Do you want to send it to Grace?" Abbie asked.

"No, I have a better idea," he replied, "can you please cross-examine this substance to determine what its from? I know you have the skills for it, Doc!"

"Your lucky that I have a microscope with me," she muttered fishing it out of her bag along with her laptop. She found the database for molecule comparison and hooked up the microscope to the USB port. She put her eye in the eye-piece and adjusted the knob until she had a clear view. Once the molecules were scanned into the computer, she compared the parts together until she had found the results.

"Incredible, Abbie!" Jones praised, "so those molecules you retrieved from Emma's necklace . . ."

"Come from the chemical composition of anti-aging crème?" Abbie finished confused, "now we know our killer uses anti-aging crème."

"Huh, is it me or are the killers in this district particularly vain?"

"Hmh . . . you could say that," she agreed closing her laptop.

They bagged the rest of their evidence and got out of the Grim News headquarters before Rachel could come back and find them snooping. They drove over to the Casino to see what they could find. After talking to the receptionist at the front desk, they found out Richard and Emma had been on the top floor where the Russian roulette tables were. They took the elevator up to the floor and stepped out into the carpeted room.

Abbie led the way while Jones and Hunter trailed behind her. They made it through the row of slot machines perfectly and enter the large balcony space where the Russian roulette tables where. Abbie looked around them and found a torn-up picture stuck under one of the roulette wheels. She pulled the pieces out and set them on the table.

"I knew you'd find something useful!" Jones grinned, "I wonder why someone tore this photo up?"

"The only way to find out, is to piece it back together," Abbie replied pulling out some tape.

She worked the well ripped pieces into place and secured them together with thine strips of clear tape. Once the last piece was tapped together, the picture showed Emma shying away from a man who was yelling at her in anger.

"Great job, Abbie!" Jones praised, "it looks like it's Emma in this photo! How about we-"

"That's my photograph!" and elderly lady shrieked ripping it out of the Turkish woman's hands, "put it down you thief or I will cast a voodoo spell on you!"

"Doc, this must be the crazy old bi- lady, Richard told us about," he grumbled under his breath.

"Excuse me?" Abbie pointed at the picture, "did you know this woman in the picture? She died earlier today."

"Emma is dead?!" the woman asked, "bless the skies, my voodoo spell worked! Now that I've killed her I'll be lucky again."

"You cast a spell on her?" Jones asked in disbelief.

"I had no choice!" she fumed, "that tramp was here ever night and she brought bad luck with her. I was losing all my money! So, I this picture of her and used it for my voodoo. Here, you can have it- I don't need it anymore."

She shoved the picture into Abbie's hands before turning to Jones and puckering her lips.

"Now, young man," she purred "how about a kiss for good luck or do I have to cast a love spell on you?"

Jones gulped and looked at his partner for help. Abbie shoved the picture into her bag and grabbed his arm.

"Sorry, ma'am," she smiled, "but my partner and I have an appointment to get to. But we'll be in touch, Miss?"

"Josie Picket," Josie answered uncapping her lip-balm, "and honey, I'll be waiting for that kiss."

The only thing keeping Jones from sprinting away was Abbie's tight grip on his arm. They quickly walked back to the elevator and entered the sleek lift. Jones pressed the button for the lobby as Abbie released his arm.

"Why do all the old ones want me?!" he cried.

"No idea!" Abbie laughed at her partner's annoyance

He huffed, "so that photo was taken by the old lady; it's definitely Emma . . . and she was having a row with another man!"

"I bet a bag of Halloween candy that Alex can find out who he is," Abbie says fallowing him out when the doors slid open.

"If he does, I'll  _give_  him a bag of Halloween candy!" Jones promised as he opened the car door.

_Two digital analyses later . . ._

"Did you drink your coffee?" Jones asked as he and Abbie reached the tech lab.

Abbie rolled her rainbow eyes, "you  _saw_  me drink it all, you sure  _you're_  not the one who got injured in the explosion?"

"Ha, ha," he laughed dryly, "very funny. What did you find, Alex?"

"About Rachel's hard-drive; I localized all the documents about Emma," Alex pulled up a lot of digital documents on his monitors, "long story short, Emma wanted to stop being a call girl, but her boss, Rozalina, pretty much kept her prisoner."

"I had a feeling about that," Abbie sighed, "did you find out why Emma went to Rachel?"

He nodded, "Emma knew the only way to be free was by exposing Rozalina and the company's illegal activity thanks to Rachel's help."

"Not only does Rozalina use her models as escorts, she also keeps them prisoners!" Jones said disgusted, "Abbie, we've got some questioning to do!"

"But first," she turned to the younger man, "did you ID the man in the photo Josie gave us?"

"His name is Roger Dence and he's a plastic surgeon," Alex informed handing her a printed off information sheet.

"Another plastic surgeon?" Jones asked, "I hope he isn't as big an asshole as Richard."

"Actually, they both work together," he pulled up the company's logo, "they own the plastic surgery called Dence & Dobbs."

"Interesting . . ." he mused, "so Doc, what d'you say we ask Roger what his row with Emma was all about?"

"You call Rozalina, I'll call Roger," Abbie ordered.

Roger Dence was the first to arrive at the station and they brought him into the interrogation room. The plastic surgeon was dressed as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, one half a cleaned kept doctors coat and suite, the other a ripped and unkept side. Even half his hair was messy underneath his black top-hat.

"Can we make it brief?" Roger groaned rubbing his stomach, "I've got food poisoning . . . bad sushi."

"We'll be as quick as we can," Abbie promised, "how well did you know Emma Ternon?"

"Emma and I, we were quite close," he replied, "I often used her services as an escort. She was always very professional."

"And let me guess," Jones glared at the surgeon, "when you found out Richard was also "employing" her, you got mad."

"Not at all," he smirked, "Richard and I, we already share a business . . . and we don't mind sharing the rest either."

"You're a bunch of sickos, the both of you!" he gagged, "I mean seriously!"

Jones led Roger out of the station while Abbie brought Rozalina into the interrogation room. The brunet detective came in a few minutes later and stood behind his partner.

"Rozalina, we have found evidence suggesting that you kept Emma and your other models prisoner," Abbie told the Russian.

"You think I was keeping Emma as a prisoner?" Rozalina growled, "please, she was such a drama queen; Always telling lies!"

"So, your saying you didn't keep her prisoner?" she inquired.

She huffed, "she had such an easy life; the stupid bitch was getting paid heaps of money just for the way she looked!"

"You know what I think?" Jones leaned on his elbows on the desktop, "you were jealous of everything that Emma had. That's why you hated her so much."

"What did Emma have that I don't?! I've still got my beauty, Emma's got nothing!" Rozalina cackled, "don't you think I'm still beautiful Jones? Wouldn't you like to take me out to dinner? I know a great sushi restaurant . . ."

"Thanks, I'll be sure to take my girlfriend there later," he smirked at the look of shock on the blonde's face at her rejection.

Abbie showed Rozalina to the elevator with Hunter before her and Jones went to report to Chief King about what they knew. Their boss had even gotten dressed up for Halloween. Gone was the standard Police Chief suit, for it had been replaced with a Hans Solo costume. Though Abbie knew that the gun in the holster wasn't a toy gun.

"Abbie, you need to hurry and deal a swift justice to Emma's killer!" King ordered, "if you're overworked, be sure to enlist Ramirez's help."

"Psst, Doc," Jones whispered leaning into her ear, "what simple task can we give that buffoon? Something we hate doing . . ."

"I can still hear you Jones," he assured the man spinning his tube of lip balm on his desk.

"That's it!" he cried, "let's have Ramirez check to see which of our suspect use lip balm! Thanks for the advice, Chief!"

He blinked, "your welcome?"

"In the meantime, we've got a suspect to interrogate."

"And a crime scene that needs a final sweep," Abbie added, "I'll grab my bike and met you at the casino."

"Good," he nodded taking the car keys form her.

Abbie and Hunter hurried to the back-parking lot where the detective's bike was stored. They hopped on and speed off to the Downtown square while Jones drove in the opposite direction to the Casino. When they arrived at the still taped off crime scene, Abbie lifted the yellow police tape to take a look around for clues.

She checked near the stairs leading down from the square and found a broken piece of glass with blood splattered on it. She took a sample for Grace to analyses and hopefully her friend could find something useful. She bagged the pieces as Hunter started barking.

"What did you find, girl?" Abbie asked walking over.

The German Shepperd sat on the ground with a broken pile of parts in front of her. A quick use of glue, and skills, and the parts mended together to form a voice recorder. She decided to wait until Jones was with her to listen to it, and stuffed the device into her bag. Her and Hunter got back onto the bike and drove off to met Jones at the Casino.

He met her outside the main doors and they entered together into the high-class building. Jones led her to the side stair well where the emergency stairs were located and up four flights of stairs to the top floor. To "avoid the lights" he had told her, Abbie smiled at her partner's concern for her well-being and they entered the top floor space where Josie Picket was sitting in one of the plush leather couches.

"This anti-aging cream is rejuvenating me! I feel more alive then ever," Josie giggled rubbing her cheeks, "I even tried a new food; raw fish . . . I hear it's an aphrodisiac."

"Yeah, I think I read that article," Abbie pondered out loud.

Jones nudged her, "this isn't the time for you two to bond over beauty care secrets."

"Oh, Mister Detective Jones," Josie cooed seeing the man, "I'd just love to shrink you down and put you on my keychain as a good luck charm. Wouldn't that be nice!"

"Huh, okay . . ." he took a step away from the gambler, "do you remember noticing anything more about Emma when she was at the casino last night? Anybody arguing with her?"

"So many men were arguing with her last night," she shook her head, "I tell you, she attracted them like flies on shit . . . I hope she died most horribly."

"Was there any man who stood out to you?" Abbie asked, "and I don't mean Jones."

Josie thought about it, "you know, one man even proposed to her! A good-looking one too . . . but she said no and he was quite mad indeed about it."

"Thanks for the help, Mrs. Picket," she smiled pulling Jones away from the couches.

"You know," Jones says once they were out of ear shot, "since were here let's search the casino . . . maybe we'll find out who proposed to Emma. But let's be quick about it . . . Mrs. Picket scares the living daylights out of me!"

Abbie laughed, "well, it is Halloween . . ."

They found the tables where the picture of Roger and Emma had been found and searched them again for any clues to the mysterious proposal. Abbie pushed aside some poker chips and something shiny caught her eyes. She picked it up and found it to be a diamond ring.

"I bet you thins is the ring our mystery man used to propose to Emma," Abbie said holding it up to the light.

"If only we knew who he was," Jones complained.

"Maybe not now, but we can find out," she replied, "all jewellers engrave a serial number on the inside on the diamonds. Find the number, and we'll find our would-be fiancée."

"You're a genius, Doc!" he praised, "once we have that serial number, we can get it traced."

Abbie dug around her bag for her jewellery loupe to find the diamond's serial number. She found the metal encased glass and placed it in front of her eye, squinting to keep it in place. She turned the gem around in her fingers until she got an angle where she could see the string of letters and numbers. She read them out loud to Jones who writ them onto a tag. Once it was completed, they attached the tag to the ring and bagged it.

They hurried back to the station with their separate vehicles and Abbie ran the blood sample and engagement ring over to Grace and Alex to analyses. She then walked back to the office where Jones had just finished updating their suspect list and reports.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Abbie reached into her bag and withdrew the voice recorder, "Hunter found this at the crime scene, we haven't listened to it yet."

"Well, let's click play and see if it still works," Jones says pushing the red button.

The device crackled and a male voice came out of the speakers choppily, "kkrrr . . . I'm . . . gonna kill you, Emma! . . . pschhhkkrrr- I swear I'll fucking kill you! . . . KRRRR!"

The recorder made a popping noise and smoke bellowed out of the speaker. Abbie dropped it onto the spare desk to cool drown and pulled the battery out of the back.

"Dammit!" Jones cursed, "the audio is completely dead now!"

"Emma must have turned the recorder on because she felt threatened," Abbie suggested.

"But who is that threatening her?" he wondered, "the voice sounds so familiar . . ."

She replayed the recording over in her head, "it's Roger Dence!"

"Your right!" he grinned, "this isn't enough to accuse him but it could get him talking!"

"I'll call him in again," she says pulling out her cellphone.

When Roger arrived in their interrogation room, they sat him back down at the desk and Abbie dropped the fried voice recorder in front of him to look at.

"We've got an audio recording of you threatening to kill Emma," Abbie told the doctor.

"Kind of incriminating, don't you think?" Jones added.

"Fine," Roger sighed, "I owe you an explanation. I preformed a plastic surgery operation on Emma and . . . it didn't go well."

"How bad is "didn't go well?" Abbie asked.

"She was furious; she wanted to sue me for everything I have," he elaborated, "when she told me that at the casino, I lost my temper . . . I didn't even want to do the operation in the first place. I told her she should just use anti-aging cream like me, but she wanted more than that."

"So, you only lost your temper?" she asked placing a hand on her hip.

"I swear, Detective Abbie, I didn't kill her," Roger began to cry, "not my sweet little Emma."

"I was not saying you did," Abbie assured him, "just stay here for a while, try to calm your nerves."

Jones, her and Hunter left Roger in the interrogation room to relax on his own and went to check in on Alex and Grace. Both the experts were in the hallway outside their labs, and Abbie got her first look at Grace's Halloween costume. The forensic scientist had gone dressed as her favorite TV forensic expert, Abby Sciuto from NCIS. She had on a black pigtailed wig and black dress with red leggings underneath, black combat boots with large buckles, and spike jewelry, and dark make-up to tie the look together.

"Nice costume Grace," Abbie congratulated the woman on her hard work, "did you find out something from the blood I sent?"

"Thank you," Grace smiled, "I analyzed the blood sample off that broken glass. The glass was indeed from the window Emma fell out of . . . but the blood doesn't belong to her."

"Then the killer must have cut themselves on the glass when they pushed Emma into the window," she theorized.

"That's exactly the conclusion I came to," she agreed, "I quantified the amount of specific molecule in the T-cells present in the blood to determine the killer's age. And so, thanks to that single blood drop, I can tell you with absolute certainty that your killer is 52 years old!"

"Nice job, Grace!" Jones grinned, "how about you, Alex?"

"I traced the serial number you got from that diamond ring," Alex told them, "turns out it was bought by Richard Dobbs just yesterday."

"So, it was Richard who wanted to marry Emma!" he gagged, "no wonder she said no."

"Can't say I blame her either," Abbie grimaced.

"Come on, Doc," Jones smirked, "what do you say we go rub it in his face?"

"Ah, there you are Abbie!" Ramirez called as he ran up to the group, "I managed to get the info you wanted about the lip balm!"

"I hope the task wasn't to difficult for you, Ramirez?" Jones muffled his snicker with a cough.

"It wasn't easy, that's for sure!" he replied pleased with himself, "but now I can confidently tell you that all your suspects use lip balm!"

"All of them?! Dammit," he cursed, "so anyone of them could have given Emma that kiss of death!"

"Well, we needed to know," Abbie reminded him.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Alex dug into his coat pockets, "I was trying to get a game to work on Emma's tablet computer but-"

"Alex," Jones shook his head chuckling, "that tablet is a piece of evidence, not your toy!"

"I know . . ." he hummed innocently, "but this allowed me to discover that the memory chip containing all her photos is completely broken."

"And let me guess, you want me to fix it?" Abbie asked.

"I bet I could retrieve some vital information!" he assured.

"Alright," she smiled extending her hand, "hand it over."

Alex gave her the broken memory chip, and she pulled out her small bottle of tech-safe super glue. She dabbed it to along the thine edges of the chip and pieced together the memory chip and held it together, blowing on it softly to quickly dry it. Once she could remover her hand and the chip stayed in pieces, she gave it back to Alex.

"Amazing work, Doc, you really are the jack of all trads!" Jones cheered, "hopefully you can recover some useful info form Emma's memory chip, Alex."

"No worries, boss!" Alex saluted.

The group split up and Jones and Abbie called Richard Dobbs back in for questioning. Because Roger Dence had yet to leave their interrogation room, they sat Richard down in front of Jones desk and Abbie rolled her chair over to sit next to her partner. She placed Hunter on her lap and the dog kept her eyes trained on the plastic surgeon.

"So, Richard, not only did you hire Emma as an escort," Jones dropped the diamond ring on the center of his desk, "but you also wanted to marry her?"

"Ha, I thought it would be cheaper!" Richard laughed, "and honestly, for a first marriage, I could do worse then Emma. Know what I'm saying?"

"I'm just glad she said no to marring a guy like you," he mumbled and Abbie stiffened a laugh.

"I heard that, you douche!" he growled shoving his chair back, "now if you'll excuse me, I've got a plate of sushi waiting, and I like it cold!"

Richard stormed out of the room as Alex hurried into it in a flurry of multi-coloured fabric. If it wasn't for jones standing up and grabbing the younger by the collar of his coat, Alex would have face planted on the carpet from tripping on the edge of his scarf.

"Careful there, buddy," Jones advised fixing the kid's scarf, "I don't think you and the carpet make a good couple."

"Ha, ha," Alex laughed, "some day, I will have a wonderful girlfriend, and you'll be jealous!"

He hummed, "naw, I just have to look at Ginger."

"Alright lover-birds," Abbie rolled her eyes, "have you already found something from that memory chip, Alex?"

Alex nodded rapidly, "it contains a gold nugget of information! And it's just as I thought!"

"What'd you think?" she asked raising an eyebrow.

"Emma was holding her tablet computer when she was confronted by her killer," he explained to them, "and even as she was being pushed to her death, she still had the presence of mind to take a photo!"

He flipped around his own tablet to show them a blurry picture of a lab coat, "now the photo is to blurry to make out any clear features of the killer . . . but it's still clear enough for me to tell you, your killer wears a lab coat!"

Abbie pulled up the suspect profiles and added that factor. She clicked on the only two suspects wearing a lab coat, and with a click of the "arrest" button, a red guilty sign stamped onto his chest.

"And wouldn't ya know?" Abbie smirked pulling out her cuffs, "we still have him in the station."

"Let's go arrest a killer," Jones agreed leading her to the interrogation room.

They stopped Roger in the hallway from leaving as he exited the room. He looked confused at the detective halting his departure, until he saw Abbie holding up the unlocked hand cuffs.

"Your life ends here, Roger!" Jones spat, "you're under arrest for the murder of Emma Ternon."

"I dint have a choice!" Roger defended, "I was about to lose my practice because of her!"

"How?" Abbie inquired.

"Emma stupidly told me about her work as an informant for Rachel and how dangerous it was," he answered the question, "I thought if I made the murder look like it was tied to that, you'd never suspect me . . . it seems I underestimated you, Detective Abbie."

"Yeah,"" Jones snorted, "well, you're not the first one to have made that mistake."

Abbie snapped the cuffs on Roger's wrist while she read him his rights. Then they led him out of the building for his trial.

_In a creepily decorated Court Room . . ._

"Roger Dence, I am stunned that you value your surgery practice over the life of a human being," Judge Hall clenched her teeth.

Even she had dressed up for Halloween, even if she didn't get out of the Courthouse often. The judge had ditched her traditional black robes and now had on a deep blue witch's dress with a black cape draped over her shoulders with her gold scales pin holding it in place. A wide brimmed black witches hat with a wide blue ribbon was on her head.

"Indeed," she continued, "it sickens me to think that you had no qualms in killing an innocent person whose only crime was of trusting you."

"I'm not the monster here," Roger looked more like Mr. Hyde then Dr. Jekyll, "I gave her what she wanted most; eternal beauty!"

"Huh . . ." Jones droned, "a face smashed to a pulp is not what I would describe as eternally beautiful . . ."

"Thank you for you're impute, Detective Jones," Judge Hall gave him a look saying "sit down." She then turned to address the accused, "Roger Dence, for the brutal murder of Emma Ternon, I sentence you to life imprisonment!"

The guards escorted Roger out in cuffs while the costume clad audience dispersed from the main room out into the streets to get ready for a frightful night. Jones, Abbie and Hunter headed down the sidewalk to where their squad car was parked waiting for them.

"What do you say, Abbie?" Jones gulped sweating, "shall we risk buying a hot-dog?"

"You want to try having food?" Abbie cocked her head.

"I'm getting scared to eat even now," he admitted with a laugh, "every time we try, a murder happens . . . but I'm starving!"

"That will have to wait a few more hours," Chief King says walked over to them, "we've had some problems have come up."

"Aw!" he whined, "just when I thought I was going to get some food!"

Abbie pulled out a granola bar from her bag and gave it to him, "here."

"Score!" he cheered munching on it.

"I'm impressed, Abbie. Another brilliant case solved," King congratulated, "Jones, I hope you're learning from your partner."

"Uh-huh," Jones mumbled through his food.

"Now, I've got two assignments for you. First, a patient has accused Mr. Dobbs of working while on drugs. I want you to investigate these claims," he reported, "the casino has also requested our help; apparently an angry old lady is to much for them to handle. Go and sort things out!"

"We're on it, Alab!" Abbie saluted.

Jones swallowed his granola, "Abbie, I'd also like to see how Rachel is doing, if you're up for it!"

"Alright," she agreed, "let's go see what Richard has to say about his drug accusations."

They left Chief King at the courthouse and headed back over to downtown square where the Dence & Dobbs plastic surgery clinic was located in one of the high-rise skyscrapers. They took the stairs up to the sixth floor and knocked on the door of the clinic. A receptionist answered the door and they quietly explained to him what was going on. His eyes widened and he allowed hem to enter, directing them down a short hallway to Richard's private office. They knocked on the door as Jones pushed it open and entered the lavished furnished space.

"Mr. Dobbs," Jones greeted the doctor, "I trust you know why we're here?"

"To talk about fixing that nose of yours?" he asked.

"What?" he felt his nose, "what's wrong with my nose?"

"Nothing," Abbie assured him, "Richard, one of your patients has accused you of taking drugs while working."

 _"What?_  That's bullshit!" he cursed, "I'm one of the best surgeons around. D'you really think I'd jeopardize that by doping up?!"

"That depends," she replied, "do you have a reason to take drugs?"

Richard huffed, "anyway, I've got nothing to hide. Knock yourself out, Detective Abbie, check my office. Now if you don't mind, they're waiting for me in the surgery block."

They watch Richard strut out of the office like he owned the place, which he did. Abbie did a quick sweep of the office with her neon green eyes, but found nothing with even a trace of drugs on it. Hunter sniffed around the desk, chairs and fax trees but yielded the same results.

"The place is clean, but Hunter found faint traces of drugs," Abbie informed him.

Jones hummed, "Abbie, did you see Richard's eyes?"

"His pupils were completely dilated," she recalled.

"And why was he next to an open window when we got in?" he questioned.

She walked over and peered out of it, "the glass is scratched, something with sharp edges recently scrapped the outside."

"I bet he threw something out the window! Let's go check the square, see if we can find what it was."

They left the clinic after checking with the receptionist to see how long Richard still had left of his shift. The young man reported that the surgeon still had five hours left to do before he could leave for the night. They thanked the man for his work and headed outside to see what they could find.

Abbie got Hunter to sniff around the bushes for any drugs she could find. The dog got to work and check the bushes closest to the building and despite having a piece of cloth and an orange jack-o-lantern in front of her nose, she easily alerted on a small red box hidden in the green leaves.

"Nice catch, Hunter!" Abbie praised, "Jones, I bet this box is what Dobbs threw out his window."

"Darn, it's locked!" Jones grumbled frowning, "Abbie, I know I always ask for your help, but d'you think you can open it?"

She smiled, "you know I'll always be happy to help my partner."

Abbie turned the dial of the lock around a few times, watching the appear to her, the pros of being psychic. She picked the right sequence of numbers and the lock popped with a small click. She removed it and lifted the lid.

"Fancy," she commented looking at the contents, "a cocaine kit."

"How come I'm not surprised!" he snorted fixing his fedora, "I bet you anything this belongs to Dobbs!"

"Well, we still need proof," she slipped on a pair of gloves, "unfortunately, your gut isn't a plausible cause to arrest him."

He pouted, "just collect some fingerprints from that thing, smarty-pants."

Abbie bit her tongue to prevent a laugh from escaping her lips. She pulled out her brush and powder kit and lightly dusted the mirror, razor, and blunt. She found a clear set of fingerprints and transferred them onto a sheet for comparison.

"This should be enough to determine who the owner of this box is," Abbie says handing her partner the paper.

"You really have a knack for collecting clear fingerprints, Doc!" Jones grinned, "let's send these prints to Alex."

They rushed the fingerprints over to the station and up to Alex's lab. Once he had them, Abbie drove the car over to the Grim News Headquarters to talk to Rachel. The head reporter was waiting for them in the top floor office by her desk looking around the mess for something.

She smiled when she saw them enter, "Abbie! In the nick of time as always!"

"We were just coming to say hello . . ." Jones grumbled and Abbie jabbed him in the ribs, "but . . . how can we help you?"

"I was working on my article about Rozalina's escort girl company, but I can't find the phonebook Emma gave to me!" Rachel cried frazzled knocking some paper into the trash bin, "I've looked everywhere, I'm getting desperate! Abbie, I know how good you are with such things . . . could you help me?"

"Of course," Abbie replied before Jones could intervene.

The Muslim walked over to the desk that belonged to Rachel and set about combing through the mess of papers for the phonebook. She pushed aside some file folders and notebooks on the mahogany desk and found what appeared to be a contact book. She flipped it open to some random page and found that someone had torn the pages out of it.

"Is this the book?" Abbie asked holding it out.

Rachel looked it over, "it is! But some pages are missing!"

"Never fear!" Jones cut in before she could freak out, "Doc, time to work your magic. We need to know what was written on those pages."

Abbie pulled out her brush with a flourish and dabbed it into the black powder. She spun the handle of the brush with her fingertips and moved it across the pages to recover the contact information on them.

"This is all of Emma's contacts," she skimmed the lists of names.

"Hey, there's Alden Greene's name on this list!" Jones exclaimed ripping the book out of her hands, "I didn't take him for a call girl enthusiast, did you?"

"I don't know what to take him for," she responded, "do you anything about this, Rachel?"

"Why do you think I wanted to find the book so badly?" Rachel answered the question with a question, "sure, Rozalina's escort company will make a fine article, but my real interest in the story lay with Alden Greene!"

"How did you plan on finding that?" she asked.

"I wanted Emma to become his regular girl," she replied taking the book from Jones, "so she could snoop around and give me info about him. To bad she got killed before she could find anything useful . . ."

"You're still harping on about Greene?" Jones asked incuriously, "look. Man is a jerk, we saw how callous he could be when his daughter-in-law was murdered, but it doesn't mean he's an evil genius!"

"Believe what you will, Detectives," Rachel mouth turned into a joker smile and a devious glint sparked in her eyes, "I  _know_  Alden Greene is involved in some real shady stuff, and I will prove it, with or with out your help!"

"Just remember," Abbie pulled out one of her cards, "I'm just a phone call away."

She accepted the card, "I promise to call if I'm ever in trouble."

Jones and Abbie left the Grim News Headquarters and headed over to the casino to see what trouble Josie Picket was causing. They took the emergency stairs up to the Russian Roulette floor and found hurrying around the tables like a tornado looking as angry as a bull.

"Mrs. Picket," Jones called getting the old lady's attention, "we heard you've been causing trouble; what seems to be the problem?"

"I'll tell you what the problem is! Someone stole my precious tarot card! Now my mojo's all gone! If I ever find who is behind this," Josie vowed kicking a chair, "I'll turn them into a toad!"

"Mrs. Picket, please calm down," he pleaded.

"Why don't you describe the card to me?" Abbie suggested, "that way I'll know what I'm looking for."

"It's the Wheel of Fortune. Its got the four elements on it, you can miss it!" she described, "if you help me find it, I'll tell you your fortune!"

"Don't worry," she smiled, "I will have a look around for your card."

Josie grabbed her purse from a chair, "I'll be over at the slot machines, all this stress isn't good for my health."

"Some how I don't think the slot machines will help," Jones said under his breath.

While Josie walked over to the slot machines and climbed onto a chair while fishing out some loose change from her purse. Meanwhile Abbie took a look around the tables that the gambler hadn't overturned in her hast to find her card. She checked underneath one of the tables closest to the balcony and found a black and white suitcase sitting on the seat of a chair. She grabbed the cool leather handle and moved the suitcase onto the Roulette table.

"Hey, Jones!" Abbie called, "take a look at this!"

Jones strode over and looked at what she found, "a magician's suitcase! . . . Doc, did I ever tell you that I wanted to be a magician when I was a kid? I'll have to show you my card tricks one of these days."

"You show me yours, and I'll show you my disappearing act," she says fiddling with the latches.

"This is so exacting!" he bounced on the balls of his feet like Avi does, "can you take a look inside, see if you can find Josie's tarot card?"

"Alright, hold your horses will ya?" she teased tipping the contents out of the suitcase. She rummaged through the magician's supplies consisting of plastic wands, white silk gloves, handkerchiefs, balls and cups. She pulled a handkerchief away and found a tarot card hidden under it. The card was slightly larger then a standard sized card with a wheel in the center and some pictures in the squares around it.

"Bingo, a tarot card!" Jones grinned as Abbie picked it up, "we should make sure it the right one before giving it back though."

"Why?" she smirked, "don't want to be a toad for Halloween instead?"

He paled, "no! just make sure it has the four elements, air, water, fire, and earth."

She turned the card over in her hands to get a full look. Abbie decided to try a new trick she though if and stared at the images on the card's face. She felt a tingle in her eyes like an static cling shock and knew immediately that this was the card they were looking for.

"It's the right card," she proclaimed.

"You wouldn't happen to be a magician yourself?" Jones asked.

"Not a magician," she replied, the lie was partly true.

"Oh, just asking," he says stuffing his hands in the coat's pockets, "let's bring her card back to Josie!"

They made their way over to the clot machine that the gambler was playing at, and once she had pulled the lever, Abbie set the tarot card down on the console in front of her.

"Ta-da!" Jones sang, "like a true magician, Abbie found your tarot card, Mrs. Picket."

"You're spectacular, Detective Abbie!" Josie reached into her bag and pulled out a deck of tarot cards, "as a reward, I will tell you your fortune. Go ahead, pick a card!"

Josie spared the cards out with her hands like a fan and Abbie traced her finger over the tops of them until she made her choice. She removed the card and the lady slid the others back into a deck and took the card from the Canadian. She flipped it over to see what was on the face.

"I see . . . I see death!" Josie announced showing the detectives the card with the Grim Reaper on it.

"Death?" Abbie repeated looking at the card.

Jones mean while, was freaking out, "oh my god, are you saying Abbie's going to die? That's TERRIBLE!"

"No, you nincompoop! Someone else will die!" she elaborated slipping the card back into the deck, "but I also see you will find the culprit! And . . . you will be nicely dressed to!"

"Well, we don't need cards to tell us that!" Abbie smirked.

"Yeah, Doc always find the bad guys!" Jones boasted, "and she's got style to spare!"

After that free prediction from the old gambler, Jones, Abbie and Hunter made their way down the staircase at out to their car. They drove over to the police station to see what Alex had found from the fingerprints.

They enter the tech lab and found Avi sitting on his stool next to Alex at the main computer. The five-year-old had gone as Frodo Baggins for Halloween. With the brown pants, beige shirt underneath a vest a green cloak and shoes with tuffs of fur glued to the tops. He even wore a gold ring on a sliver chain and a fake cardboard sword in his hand.

"Well," Abbie reached over to fluff the chocolate brown hair, "if it isn't the cutest Hobbit this side of the Shire! Of to Mordor, are we?"

Avi giggled, "no! I have to stay and help you catch bad people!"

"Is that so?" she hummed, "and have you found anything yet, Mister Frodo?"

"Uh-huh!" he nodded, "the fingerprints are a bog's!"

"A bog's?" she questioned.

"He means a Dobbs," Alex clarified, "Richard Dobbs to be precise. Your guy should be more careful. All the fingerprints you lifted from that cocaine box are belong to him!"

"So, Dobbs is not only a pretentious twat, but he's also a drug addict to boot!" Jones laughed, "thanks, Alex."

"I helped too!" Avi yelled waving his sword.

"And thank you to, Avi," he smiled, "now, to go remind Dobbs about a little thing I like to call The Law."

They left the station and got to the plastic surgery clinic in record time. They talked to the receptionist who told them that Richard hadn't left yet and was back in his office. They thanked the man and Jones pulled out his hand cuffs as Abbie opened the door.

"Mr. Dobbs, you're in big trouble!" Jones informed the man.

"How so?" Richard asked cockily.

"We've found a cocaine kite with your fingerprints all over it," Abbie answered.

"This is bullshit! I've never used cocaine!" he fumed, "I'm a healthy guy! I get exercise, I eat balanced meals, I don't drink . . . I'd never use such crap!"

"Your prints and clients say otherwise," she replied as Jones snapped the cuffs on.

"But you'll like the place where we're sending you!" Jones assured, "balanced meals, plenty of exercise . . . all paid by the state!"

They escorted Richard back to the station and handed him over to booking to get processed. Once he was off their hands, Jones told Abbie that they had to go down to the morgue for a bit. She allowed him to lead her and Hunter down to the basement and they found everyone plus Valentina, Ginger and the Ramirez girls, but the head ME of the lab to be there.

The Ramirez girls were dressed as the Sanderson sisters from Hocus Pocus, Lucia had gone dressed as Sarah Sanderson while Mariposa was dressed as Winifred Sanderson, and Itzel was dressed up as Mary Sanderson. Valentina had gone as Elena of Avalor with her dark brown hair tied in a high ponytail and the red and white dress with a brown belt fastened at her waist. Ginger was dressed as Princess Buttercup from the Princess Bride, with the long sleeved red dress and thine brown belt, her hair was pulled away from her face with two small twin braids above her ears.

"Where's Nathan?" Abbie asked not seeing him around.

Avi answered with a laugh, "mommy isn't suppose to be here yet!"

"Why?" she asked this time to her partner.

"Didn't you know its Nathan birthday?" he said cocking an eyebrow.

Her eyes widened,  _"no!_  man, I feel horrible! I didn't wish him a happy birthday all day!"

"Don't worry, he knows you didn't know," he reassured her, "now, help me get this cake out."

Jones led her out of the morgue to over to the back up freezer that was only to be used if the power went out. The room was able to hold up to five bodies at a time, but it wasn't in use so the room was the same temperature as the rest of the station. Jones walked over to a table and motioned for Abbie to lift up one end of the white bakery box while he grabbed the other end. They lifted together and carefully walked it back to the morgue, the doors sliding open for them.

They set the box down on a collapsible table that someone had brought in, with two punchbowls on either side, one was filled with a green punch while the other was an orange coloured one. Abbie removed the lid off the box and chuckled seeing that the cake was actually a bunch of chocolate cupcakes, organized in the shape of a skeleton with white frosting.

"Cute," she remarked, "but how did you get Nathan out of his morgue?"

"Truth be told, we didn't," Alex answered leaning against the body storage drawers, "he wasn't here when we got in."

"Come to think of it, I never saw him on my way down," Grace mused, "I wonder where he is?"

Jones snorted, "odds our he got wind of the party and didn't want to see us ruin his morgue."

"I think he's probably-what was that?!" Ramirez squeaked whipping his head around.

"What was what?" King asked.

"That banging noise!" he cried, "like someone is hitting metal with a hammer!"

"You're just imagining things, Ramirez," Jones rolled his eyes, "just because its Halloween doesn't mean that ghost are-"

**BANG!**

"Or maybe not!" he yelped almost leaping into Abbie's arms again.

"What was that?" Ginger asked for her boyfriend.

"It came from in here," Alex whimpered pointing to the drawer he was leaning on.

"D-didn't Emma's body already go to the funeral home?" Jones stuttered.

"It was realised a few hours ago," King confirmed.

"Then what's making that banging noise?" Grace wondered.

Alex backed over to her, "no idea, and I don't want to be the one to find out!"

**BANG!**

"Well someone better open it and check!" Valentina demanded but made no move to do it herself.

"Don't look at me!" Lucia yelled holding onto Mariposa and Itzel.

**BANG!!!**

With one last loud bang, the middle drawer of the shelves flew opened and hit the metal next to it. It was to dark to see inside of the drawer, but Abbie could swear that she saw what appaired to be a flicker of electricity on the hinges and the handle. A dark hand came out from inside the drawer and grabbed the edge of the metal frame. Everyone took a step back as a second hand came out and both pushed the sliding table out of the drawer. The body on the table took its hands away from the sides and it raised its head up and turned to look at them.

"What's wrong with you guys?" Nathan asked seeing the chalk white expressions on his team and family's faces, "you look like you've seen a ghost."

"NATHAN!" Ramirez shouted, "what were you doing in  _there!?"_

"Oiling the tracks," he replied picking up a can of oil from his side, "the wheels were getting stuck."

"And you had to be inside  _why?!"_  King demanded.

The blue/brown eyes blinked, "how else am I supposed to oil them?"

"Some way that doesn't involve giving your teammates heart attacks!" Jones yelled, "and was the banging really necessary?"

"Mujhe maaph kar do," Nathan apologized, "but the door was blocked."

Alex chuckled sheepishly, "that's my fault, I was leaning on it."

"Now get out of there," Abbie ordered, "we have a birthday to celebrate!"

Nathan handed his oil can to her while Jones walked to the side of the table to help him down. Nathan sat up straight and swung his legs over the side and braced himself with his hands on his friend's shoulders. Jones grabbed his hips and lifted him off the tabled and lowered the shorter man to the ground. Nathan pushed the table back into the drawer and closed the door behind it.

Nathan had changed out of his scrubs and lab coat and now wore a pair of black pants and a blue Star Trek uniform shirt. Abbie walked over to him with a cupcake in each hand while the others went over and grabbed some for themselves.

"What was that I saw on the lock?" she asked handing him part of the fibula.

He accepted it, "metal?"

"No, _on_  the metal. It looked like lighting," she clarified.

"Probably just a trick of the light," he frowned biting into the cupcake.

She frowned as well, "maybe . . . but I don't think so."

"You are a very skeptical person, you know that?" he sighed.

"I'm not skeptical, I'm psychic," she stated.

"Wait, really?" he asked surprised.

She nodded, "how do you think I'm so good at my job? I can visualize the code for locks and I can tell if I'm being lied to, most of the time."

"Huh, that explains a lot, actually," Nathan swallowed the last of his cupcake as Avi came over, "Namastē, kaddoo. Are you ready to go trick or treating?"

"Yes!" Avi nodded, "can we go now?"

"Say good bye to the others and then we'll leave," he promised as the Hobbit rushed off to do so.

"So, your birthday is on Halloween?" Abbie smirked.

Nathan smiled lightly, "I didn't even know about this holiday until I came to America. Jones informed me when he asked when my birthday was. I don't even celebrate this holiday, but Avi likes it so I take him trick-or-treating ever year."

"Speaking of, here he comes," she reported as Avi rushed over holding a small bag in his hand.

"Ready mommy!" he announced.

"Alright," Nathan smiled taking his child's hand, "let's go."

"See you later Nathan," Abbie called as he left.

"Bye," he waved to the others as the two of them left the morgue.


	23. A Shock to the Team

"Abbie?" Alex asked shaking his friend's shoulder, "you okay?"

"Huh?" Abbie blinked looking around. Her and Alex were at the comic book shop checking out the latest edition of Captain Simple. The copy the detective had been holding was on the ground at her feet. The tech expert was watching her with concern written on his face.

She shook her head, "I'm . . . fine, I think."

"You sure? You blacked out badly for a minute, I thought you were going to pass out for a second," he says bending down to pick up the fallen comic book.

"No, just, had a weird thought," she muttered trying to make sense of it.

"Well, I think you better read your comic at home, Kevin will get mad if you keep dropping it," he said handing it to her.

"Thanks," she took the comic book and they went over to pay.

They left the comic book shop and walked over to the Financial Center. They walked past a boarded-up tech shop that's neon sign was flickering on and off. Hunter stopped at the front door and pawed at the boards nailed to the frame.

"What is it, Hunt?" Abbie asked seeing what her K-9 partner was doing.

Alex looked at the sign, "that's weird."

"What is?" she questioned fallowing his line of sight.

"The sign," he pointed to the red flickering "PEAR" letters, "it hasn't been on since the store almost burned down."

"Well, someone turned it on," she deduced grabbing a board, "and I intend to find out who."

It was easy to pry the nails out of the door frame. Abbie and Alex worked together to remove the boards and piled them on the sidewalk next to the store. Once all the pieces of wood were out of the way, Abbie kicked in the door with her gun drawn. What they found would be engraved in their minds for life.

In the walls of the shop were black with soot from the fire, pieces of drywall had burnt away revealing the wooden beams behind the walls. The tile floor was cracked and dusty while the counter that held the display phones were shattered and burned. But what was truly fighting, was what was in the center of it all.

A body was duck taped to a plastic chair just three meters from the door. The body was burnt and black, with sparks jumping off of it every few seconds. The duck tape secured the arms and feet to the chair, while long strips ran across its chest in an 'X' pattern. Two wires were attached to the body on each of it's shoulders. The one on the right, a blue on, ran along the floor and to the back room under the door. The other, a green one, was hocked up to the left shoulder and ran to the front of the store and had the other end attached to the power cored for the neon sign outside.

"Oh god . . ." Alex mumbled looking sick.

"You alright?" Abbie asked concerned.

"Fine . . ." he breathed, "just . . . peachy . . ."

"You can go outside," she promised him.

"No," he shook his head, "just, just give me a minute . . ."

Abbie nodded and put her gun away. Slowly, she approached the body. The wires were still encased in their rubber casing, so she didn't have to fear the ground being live. Once she was in front of the body, she saw that the ends of the rubber casing had been cut, exposing the live wires to the skin. She fallowed the blue wire to the back room and turned off the power source. Once everything was off, she returned to the front end to check on Alex and Hunter.

"How long do you think . . ." he asked staring at the burnt corpse.

She shrugged, "its hard to say, the blue wire was hooked up to the stores generator, which is obviously the murder weapon. My guess is the killer used this body as a conductor to power the sign."

"But why?" he wondered, "if the sing had come on, we wouldn't have noticed."

"Not true, Hunter could smell the burnt flesh through the door," she explained as the dog sniffed around.

"Burnt flesh . . ." he turned paler, "just please, call this in . . ."

Abbie nodded as she pulled out her phone. She hit the speed dial for Jones's cellphone and her partner picked up after a couple rings.

"Jones," he answered.

"Hey, we got a body in the abandoned Pear store," she informed him, "how soon can you get here?"

He chuckled, "what a way to start a conversation . . . I can be there in fifteen. I'll grab the others and have us met you there. Is Alex still with you?"

"He is," she looked over at her younger teammate who had settled his nausea, "a bit shaken, but he getting better."

"Alright, rope off the scene and will be there shortly," he says ending the conversation.

Abbie did as she was told and taped the doorway up with her yellow police tape. Once she had the area secured, she looked around the body for anything the killer could have left behind, or a clue to their victim's identity. A glint of metal caught her eye in two places, one was under the plastic chair, and the other was a few feet from the body. She picked the two up and found the first to be pieces of a pin, and the second was a sliver ring with a strange substance on it.

As she placed them on the counter, a business card caught her eye. She picked it up and saw that it was for a realtor, but the contact information was smudged. As she was getting her glue bottle out, the sound o sirens reached her ears. Her and Alex turned to the door and watched as Jones, Ramirez, and Grace entered, ducking under the tape to get in. The forensics expert was pushing a gurney in front of her, a black body bag on top of it.

"Where's Nathan?" Abbie asked seeing what Grace was doing.

Jones gave her a clueless look, "no idea. We checked all over, called his phone, and I even called his neighbor. But no one has seen him all day."

"So, I'll be partly filling in," Grace informed, "I may not be able to preform an autopsy, but I can still extract and analyze samples from the body."

"Have you found anything yet?" Jones asked.

"A few things," Abbie waved her hand to the items on the counter, "I was just about to repair this pin when you arrived."

"Well," he laughed, "don't let me stop you!"

She smiled and got down to work. She dripped the glue along the metal edges and held them together to fused them into one piece. When the glue was dried, she was that the pin was in the shape of a circle with a DNA strand going around the boarder, in the center was an interlocked 'S' and 'L' in yellow cursive lettering.

"This looks familiar . . ." she whispered to herself.

"What was that?" Jones asked.

"I said this looks like a logo," she replied handing it to him.

He turned it around in his hand, "maybe . . . I've never seen this logo before. Think you can run it through the system, Alex?"

"If it gets me out of here, I'm on it!" he promised.

"What about the card?" Ramirez asked.

"A little dust should revile it," Abbie explained. She pulled out her powder kit and dusted the carbon powder across the contact information area. The relator's name and phone number reviled itself to her and her eyes widened.

"Is this who I think it is?" she asked.

Jones looked over her shoulder, "holy shit! It Dave Simmons!"

"The guy who found a dead body in one of the houses he was trying to sell?" Grace asked.

"And it looks like he's gotten lucky again," he snorted, "that guy just can't catch a break!"

"What about that ring?" she asked, "do you think it could have belong to the victim?"

"Hard to say . . ." Abbie responded fixing her gloves, "it doesn't look to have been worn recently, but the substance on it might give us a clue about our killer."

She flipped the piece of jewelry over and grabbed her dropper. She lightly passed it across the sliver band, and filled it with a sample of the gooey substance. She dropped the goo onto a microscope slide before passing it over to Grace to handle.

"It has a strange pink tint to it," Grace says giving it a quick examination, "it might have gotten mixed with some blood, which could be either our victim's, or our killer's."

"And hopefully, it'll put us one step closer to catching them," Abbie agreed.

"Are you guys okay to finish up here?" Jones asked.

"Gone on, we got this place covered!" Ramirez assured.

Jones, Abbie, and Hunter left the Pear store and drove over to Dave Simmons's small realty office building. They ignored the closed sign and knocked on the glass door and the man they were looking for unlocked it.

"Long time no see, Simmons," Jones greeted the man, "remember us?"

"How could I forget?" he grumbled, "you two almost made me lose half my clients!"

"Sorry about that," he apologized, "but we have to ask you about the abandoned Pear store. You were trying to sell it?"

Simmons snorted, "trying being the key word here . . . no one wanted to buy the place. They say its "hunted"."

"Well, hunted or not, it's been the scene of a murder," Abbie informed, "and you know what that means . . ."

"Fuck," he cursed, "look, I was only trying to sell the place, not to use it to kill someone!"

"All the same, we'll need to know who owned the store," she said.

"Ah," he gulped pulling at his tie, "I think it started with a G? or maybe it was a J?"

"Wow," Jones rolled his eyes, "just step aside, please. Detective Abbie is going to search your office."

Simmons grumbled but moved off to the waiting area for them. Abbie looked around the relator's desk for any evidence relevant to their case. She pushed aside some files and one caught her eyes. She pulled the paper out and saw that the word "Pear" was written in the company name box. The man who was listed as the owner was a Gustave Olofsson, she took the file and was about to leave when she saw a high-tech cellphone on the floor. She picked it up and pocketed it, the lock scene had the same logo as the pin on the crime scene did.

"Thank you for your time, Simmons," she smiled at the man, "we'll be in touch."

"Oh, I bet we will . . ." Simmons complained locking the door behind them.

They climbed into their squad car and Abbie pulled out the cellphone. She focused on the keypad and typed in the numbers that came to her. Once it was unlocked, she dismantled the lock to keep it open for Alex to go through.

"I hope this turns out to be the victim's phone," she prayed, "it might give us their name."

"And maybe a clue to why they were in the store," Jones added, "what about that paper you picked up?"

"It's the owner of the Pear store," Abbie reported, "its registered to a Gustave Olofsson. I'm going to run a quick search on him."

She pulled out her laptop and found their world-wide database. She imputed the man's information to narrow down the search to speed up the result. She found the one she was looking for after a few minutes as Jones pulled into the station parking lot.

"Gustave Olofsson, sixty years old, originally form Sweden but has traveled all over the world for work. It says here that he's a specialist in Electromagnetism, and Biomedical Engineering," Abbie read off, "he has Switch Laboratories listed as his place of employment, and is currently here on a work Visa."

"Wonder what he was working on . . ." he pondered, "and with who."

"Hopefully, the victim's ID might tell us," she suggested, "but for now, we have a phone to give Alex."

They got out of their squad car and took the side entrance to the building and went up the stairs to avoid the others. They exited on the top floor where their office and labs were stationed. The tech lab was closest to the stairwell and the glass doors slid open for them.

"Hey, Alex," Abbie greeted, "we have a phone for you."

"Sweet!" he cheered spinning around in his chair, "what model is it?"

She looked at it, "a Pear X-9. With what looks to be an encryption program on most of the apps."

"This just get better and better," he grinned rubbing his hands together, "hand it over."

Abbie passed him the phone and he hooked it up to the main computer. After a few seconds of the system scanning the device, a black screen appeared on the monitors.

"Oh," Alex says, "this is going to be a challenge."

"Can you crack the code?" Abbie asked.

"I can," he confirmed, "but it's going to take some times."

"Well, what did you find from that badge?" Jones asked.

"It's the badge that all member of the company Switch Laboratories wear," he explained pointing to another monitor showing the logo, "I couldn't find out much about them. Other then that there a private research company specializing in human biology, and the study of elongating life."

"Nothing to strange about that," he frowned.

"That in itself isn't, but the fact that Switch Laboratories is only mentioned in a few news articles from India, does. According to what I found, something went wrong at their headquarters about two decades ago. A fire happened and destroyed most of their research," he informed them typing on his keyboard, "no one made any statements, but an electrical failure is listed as the cause, but nothing else has been said about it since."

"Could our victim have worked for them?" Abbie volunteered.

"It's possible," Alex agreed, "but until you have an ID, I won't be able to tell you for sure."

"Let's go see what Grace has found," Jones said, "good luck with that phone, Alex."

"Luck has nothing to do with my skills," he smirked.

The three officers left the tech lab and walked across the hall to the forensics lab. Grace was in front of her microscope writing down on her clipboard. She looked up as they entered and smiled at them.

"Was Simmons helpful?" she asked.

Jones grumbled, "as a car in water. But we did find out who owns the Pear store where the victim was found."

She nodded, "well here's something else that will be helpful. I ran a DNA profile from the victim's blood and found a match, Victoria Holt. She's listed as the Director of Switch-"

"Laboratories," Abbie finished, "Alex said that's what the pin belongs to."

"Well, he's right," she smiled, "Victoria has no living family. But she did have a Wilma Griffin listed as next of kin, and she stands to inherit all of the victim's fortune. A pretty penny might I add."

"Could you find Wilma's address?" Jones asked pulling out his notepad.

"She lives at 364 Sliver Street with her husband and three children."

"Greet job, Grace," Abbie praised, "what about that gooey substance?"

"I found traces of almonds, pistachios, water chestnut flour, and sugar," Grace explained.

"What could that make up?" Jones inquired.

"Singhare ki Barfi," she replied.

"Sin- what now?" he blinked confused.

"Singhare ki Barfi," she pronounced, "it's an Indian sweet, some times accompanied with hot pooris or by itself in this case. It's impossible to say whether the victim ingested any without an autopsy, but I did manage to place time of death between midnight and two am. This sample was left on the ring after that time frame."

"So, the one who east Sin- Singhare-"

"Singhare ki Barfi," Abbie supplied.

"Yeah that," he thanked, "is the killer!"

"Now that we know that, we need to talk to Gustave and Wilma about Victoria," she ordered grabbing a printed-out picture of their victim, the picture showed a woman with strawberry blonde hair, pale skin and blue eyes, she wore a simple red dress under an orange lab coat with a DNA patterned scarf around her neck.

Jones, Abbie and Hunter rushed down the stairwell taking the steps two at a time. They got in their car and speed over to Sliver street to talk to Wilma. They pulled up in front of the Victorian style house with beautiful rose bushes planted in front of the porch. They walked up the front steps and rang the doorbell, a long string of chimes reverberating from inside the house.

A minute later, a woman in her later forties answered the door. She wore a navy-blue dress with a brown belt around her waist that complemented her light skin perfectly. Her black hair was piled up into a messy bun pined in place with a gold hair clip. Her green eyes drifted from one officer to the next.

"Can I help you, officers?" she asked.

"Wilma Griffin?" Abbie asked showing her badge.

"Yes," Wilma confirmed.

"I'm Detective Abbie and this is Detective Jones," she made the introduction, "we're investigating the death of Victoria Holt."

She gasped, "Tori is . . . dead?!"

"She was found dead this afternoon; how did you know her?" she questioned.

"W-we worked together, years ago back in India," she told them, "I was a neuroscientist in her company. H-how did she die?"

"We do not know at the moment," she said calmly, "did you know that she left everything to you in her will?"

Her eyes widened, "she did?! I haven't talked to her in almost twenty years! When I came back to start my family, I left her back in India."

"I see," Jones nodded, "do you know of anyone who could have wanted her dead?"

"Huh . . ." Wilma bit her lip, "well . . . no. Sorry, she didn't have any enemies. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go make some Singhara ki Barfi. Tori taught me how to make them . . ."

"Of course," Abbie gave her one of her cards, "if you think of anything, please contact us."

Wilma took it, "I will."

They left the Griffin home and got back in their car. Abbie tracked down the hotel where Gustave was staying at for the next week. She fed Hunter a treat while giving Jones the directions to the five-star resort. They pulled into the parking lot and got past security to the elevator, then took it up to the third floor and found suite 256 at the end of the hallway. Jones banged on the door with his fist and they waited for Gustave to answer it.

The oak door sung open to revile the Swedish man glaring at them with cold green eyes. He wore a wrinkle free blue dress shirt with a black silk tie and black slacks. His dress shoes shined in the light and his orange lab coat with the Switch Laboratories pined over his heart. His black hair was slicked back with hair gel, and his goatee was cleanly trimmed.

"I never ordered room service," Gustave glared, his Swedish accent lacing his words.

"We're not," Jones glared back showing his badge, "Detectives Jones and Abbie. We're here to ask you some questions about the murder of Victoria Holt."

He kept his expression neutral, "and?"

"And, you are the listed owner of the Pear store her body was found in," he informed, "makes you a bit suspicious . . ."

"Look, so I own a building, lots of people do, its not a crime," he smirked, "and just because a dead body is found in it, doesn't mean I put it there. And what makes you think I know her?"

"You work for her," Abbie nodded to the pin on his chest, "she was the Director of Switch Laboratories, where you work."

"Fine, I knew her. But that doesn't mean I killed her," Gustave growled, "me and Victoria got along, we were  _partners_. Why would I kill my partner?"

"I don't know, why would you?" she countered.

He smirked again, "you don't have anything against me. So, if you don't mind, we're done here."

With that, Gustave ended the conversation by slamming the door in the detectives' and dog's faces. No closer to catching the killer, Jones Abbie, and Hunter head back down the elevator and drove back over to the station. They parked in their designated parking spot and headed inside form the cold weather to the heated building. They dropped the coats on the coat racks by their desks, and started a file for this case. They got as far as adding their three suspects when Alex came into the room.

"So, about that phone you sent over . . ." he started, "it belonged to the victim."

"Victoria Holt," Abbie supplied, "what did you find out about her?"

"Not too much," he frowned, "she has file regarding the attempts to rebuild her laboratory back in India, and that she had come here to try and requite her old employees."

"I don't like this," she shook her head, "this is the fourth reference to India with this case."

"So?" Jones asked, "it's where the victim lived."

"Yes, but I have this nagging feeling that I wont like where this case leads," she replied.

"What the hell are you all doing?!" Chief King demanded barging into the room ragging.

"Chief!" Jones squeaked, "huh, we were just talking about our case! Would you like an update?"

"That can wait!" he barked, "get down to the morgue,  _now!"_

"Huh? Why?" he asked.

"Because there's been a break in!" he answered, "in  _my_  station!"

"A break in?" Abbie raised an eyebrow, "how did that happen, Alab?"

"That's what you need to find out, so put your investigation on hold for now," he says calming down slightly, "and for the love of god, find out where Nathan is while you're at it."

"Yes, Chief!" both detectives responded running to the elevator.

They heard their boss ordering Alex to check the security cameras for how the person could have gotten in unseen. They watched the tech geek sprint off down the hall as the lifts doors slid shut. They road down much to slowly for their licking to the underground floor and ran out as soon as the doors were open enough for them. Abbie and Hunter went to check out what had been done to the morgue while Jones continued down the hall to the only other entrance where Nathan parked the ME van.

Meanwhile, Abbie and Hunter entered the morgue. Whoever broke into the lab wanted it to known, the place looked like it had just been through a tornado. Nathan's desk was overturned, his filling cabinets had papers, and drawers pulled out littering the floor with the years of reports. Beakers and test-tubes were smashed on the floor, and all his tools were scattered around the room. Hunter barked at a puddle of bleach that had been spilled on a stack of papers in the corner. Abbie grabbed a pier of long rubber gloves and reached into the pile of papers and pulled out the lowers ones that the chemical hadn't yet gotten to. She saw that they were formulas and notes about an experiment of some kind.

She set them on one of the autopsy tables to give to Grace to look over, then returned to her work. She saw the large black doctor's bag which Nathan used to transport his tools. The clasp had been unhooked and the top was slightly open. She also noticed a torn-up photo hidden under the work table. She picked up the pieces as Jones came into the room.

"Alex called me," he panted waving his phone, "he checked every camera, but there's only slivers of the person who broken, not enough to get an ID."

"So, they knew where the cameras were," she mused pulling off her gloves.

He nodded, "I checked the parking garage but whoever they were, they didn't leave anything behind. The door had been unlocked with Nathan's pass code so the suspect got in easily."

"How could they get it?" she wondered, " _we_  don't even know his pass code!"

He shrugged, "your guess is as good as mine, so what did you find?"

"This picture, for one thing," she answered sticking the last piece of tape to the image, "its of some woman."

"And she looks angry!" he remarked seeing the lady's hand blocking half of the frame, "think you can find out who she is?"

"Grab my laptop please," she says as she used some tongs o drop the bleach stained formulas into a box.

Jones grabbed the computer out of the laptop bag and placed it on the autopsy tale in front of her. Abbie scanned in the picture onto the hard drive and pulled up the database of citizens and visitors. She matched up the woman white bob, her blue eyes, and red lips turned in a scroll. The picture that popped up showed a woman in her later sixties wearing what looked like a black dress suit with a red dress shirt, and a string of pearls around her neck.

"Patricia Bates," Abbie read the brief information they had about her, "says here that she's a Hydrologist at the Grimsborough Aquarium, and her husband is a retired Audiologist. And would you look at this, Switch Laboratories is listed as her last place of employment."

Jones hummed, "the workers keep popping up . . . for a company that's supposedly a big secret, the employees sure do a bad job of hiding."

"But what is her picture doing in Nathan's morgue?" Abbie asked.

"Well . . . what if it was Victoria's killer who broke in?" he speculated.

"Good idea," she agreed grabbing the black medical bag.

"Why do you have his bag?" he inquired knitting his eyebrows together.

"It was left slightly open," she replied tipping out the contents onto the table. She sifted through the metal tools looking for anything out of the ordinary. She struck gold at the bottom, or well, aluminum to be precise. She found a cellphone hidden under all of the autopsy tools, but what was strange about it was that it wasn't Nathan's personal on, and the edge of it was chard. Like it had been in a fire. She checked the battery and found that there wasn't one inside, this was a display cellphone, and the logo on the back confirmed her suspicions about where it came from.

"This is bad . . ." she gulped, "this is very, very bad!"

"Is that from . . .?" he let the question hang in the air.

"It's from the Pear store,  _after_  the fire," she sighed, "this could mean that Nathan went there recently."

"B-but, Nathan wouldn't kill anyone! How do we even know he knew the victim?!" he demanded.

"Jones, we've had multiple references to India since starting this case, and Nathan is  _from_  India," she reminded, "I know the country is big, but he might have come across Victoria or one of her employees at some point."

He still didn't want to give in, "well, we don't even know where he is! How can w ask him if no ones seen him all day!"

"Then we find him."

"How?!"

"I don't know," Abbie admitted, "but we have to."

Jones mumbled something under his breath, "fine, but we ask Ramirez to track him down. I know how some of the other field officers work, they'd bring him here in chains!"

"Alright, but we do need to talk to him, were duty bound to," she sighed, "but we can check in with this Patricia Bates while Ramirez looks for him."

"Let's go visit the fishes!" he says leading the way out.

They dropped the bleached papers off with Grace first and informed her, Alex, and Ramirez about the situation. The three had matching reactions of denial but agreed to keep the matter a secret form Chief King until they had talked to Nathan. Ramirez left with the detectives and got info his own squad car to track down the missing coroner. While he did that, Jones, Abbie, and Hunter drove out to the Grimsborough Aquarium to talk with their suspect.

The aquarium Director showed them the way to the Marine Biology lab where Patricia worked in. the Director gave them some privacy to talk with the scientist about the case.

"Dr. Patricia Bates?" Abbie asked the only other person in the lab, "we're here to speak with you about Dr. Victoria Holt."

The older woman snorted, "what has that bimbo done now?"

"She's been murdered," she replied bluntly.

"What?!" Patricia cried turning around, almost knocking over some beakers, "how on earth did that idiot manage to get herself killed?!"

"That's what we're trying to figure out," Jones said pulling out the photo, "this was found on one of our crime scenes, care to explain why your so photo shy?"

She glared, "Victoria took that picture when she came to try and requite me and my husband back into her psycho company. My husband got paralyzed in that fire! And she through we would just waltz back into the swing of things and act like nothing ever happened!"

"What did happen?" he questioned, "we know there was an electrical failure b-"

"Ha!" she laughed, "failure is right! But the accident didn't happen because of faulty electricity, it happened because Victoria was foolish, she thought she could play god, and look what it got her!"

"What was she trying to do?" Abbie inquired.

"Something that is better of staying a secret," Patricia answered coldly, "her and that bastard's experiment was crazy, I admired it at first, but then it changed. It became a thing for one's nightmares, worse then the boogeyman.  _It_  caused the fire,  _it_  took away my husband's leg. Yes, I hated Victoria for creating it, but if I wanted something gone from this world, it would be that  _monster."_

"Thank you for the, information," Jones says feeling the anger rolling off the scientist in waves, "we will let you know if we have any further questions."

Patricia grumbled under her breath but they couldn't make out what she was saying. They left the aquarium, grabbing some sandwiches to-go from the food court on the way to the front entrance. They climbed in their car to eat their supper while recapping about what they had learned.

"So apparently, Victoria had been working on a secret experiment years ago," Jones says biting into his BLT, "one which Patricia blames for the accident."

"But we have no idea what the experiment was," Abbie pointed out, "or how do find out."

He thought about it, "the company may not exist in the digital world, but we know it existed in the real world."

"But unless we have proof, we can't confront any of our suspects about it yet," she reminded, "if we just ask them, they'll clam up."

He nodded, "good point. So, what do we do now? Ramirez hasn't said that he found Nathan yet."

"We could check in with Simmons again," she suggested eating the last of her sandwich, "he might have seen the victim while trying to sell the store."

"Good idea," he agreed putting the keys in the ignition.

They drove back over to Simmons's Realty to find the owner had gone on a break. The door had been left unlocked, so they decided to have another look around for anything that might have been the victim's. Jones and Hunter stood on watch for Simmons, while Abbie searched the desks in the back for clues.

She pulled open the drawers and rummaged through the piles of papers and stationary supplies but came up empty. She checked on top of the desk and found a USB stick with the Switch Laboratories logo on it. She pocketed it for Alex and continued looking. Under the desk chair, she saw a piece of faded paper stuck under on of the wheels. She lifted the chair in order to picked it up, and went over to Jones and Hunter.

"Simmons isn't back yet," he reported, "what's that you found?"

"A Switch Laboratories USB stick on his desk," she responded, "and a faded note addressed to Simmons himself."

"Well then, you better got your powder out and find out what it says," he teased with a smirk.

Abbie didn't have to be told twice. She dug out her brush and powder form her bag and opened the small canister. She dipped the ends of the brush in the black dust, the lightly ran it across the paper with a slight twirl. The carbon powder clinged to the traces of ink reviling the words on the note.

"Someone has a grudge against our realtor," Abbie remarked with raised eyebrows.

Jones took the note and whistled, "I'll say, "if you don't back off, you'll see what my science can really do!" man, what was Simmons involved with!?"

"Only one way to find out," she says, "wait for him to come back, and ask."

They each took a seat in one of the plush chairs that Simmons had set up in the small waiting area by the large windows. Jones tried to make so cups off coffee with the complementary drink machine, but scrapped that idea when he saw that there was no regular, strong coffee. Hunter trotted around the room, sniffing the fake plants and trash cans to pass the time.

Simmons arrived about a half hour later and groaned when he saw them sitting there. He entered his office and hung his coat and scarf on his coat rack behind his desk. He set his briefcase down on top of the wood and walked back over to the detectives.

"Want do you two want now?" he demanded crossing his arms.

"What is this note about?" Abbie asked holding it up.

He gulped, sweating, "its nothing, just some asshole trying to scare me."

"And whys that?" she prompted.

"Look," he checked out the window to make sue no one was coming, "I was just walking around the Pear store, trying to apprise the place, you know? When I reach out to move a cabinet, that, Gustave guy freaks out and nearly attacks me! If its wasn't for his wife, he would have killed me!"

"His wife?" Jones questioned, "he's not married."

"Well, then his girlfriend," he corrected, "average build, pale skin and reddish blonde hair."

"This wouldn't happen to be her, would it?" Abbie inquired pulling out the picture of their victim.

He eyed it, "that's her! But she may have prevented Gustave from killing me, but she was still crazier then he was!"

"How so?"

"She kept mumbling to herself," Simmons answered, "I couldn't hear her most of the time, but when I could, she was talking about some brat. I assumed it was her kid until I heard her say, "that brat was the reason I lost all my life's work. How could it have destroyed so much in one night?!"

"Huh . . ." Jones hummed, "thank you for your time, Simmons."

"If it gets you two out of my hair, then it was my pleasure," he grunted showing them to the door.

They got into their squad car and headed over to the station to check in with the rest of the team. Jones stopped at his desk to call up Ramirez about Nathan, while Abbie and Hunter left to drop the USB stick off with Alex for analyses. Then the three of them went to check in with Grace about the bleached soaked papers the found in the morgue.

"You said you found these in Nathan's morgue?!" Grace exclaimed, "why would he have these?!"

"We think it was the killer who left them," Abbie replied, "did you find out what they mean?"

She took a few deep breaths, "first of all, most off the important pieces are missing form the formulas. But with the ones you salvaged, I managed to determine that these formulas correspond with different parts of human biology, to, uh, improve a human."

"Why do you say, improve?" she asked mimicking the pronunciation.

"Well . . ." she bit her lip, "from what I can find, these formulas are about, well, mutation a human's biology and DNA. Along with some implants thrown in with them."

"You mean like turn someone into a real-life superhero?" Jones asked, "that's sounds awesome!"

"Its not awesome," Grace sighed, "these formulas show results of an experiment conducted on a human almost thirty years ago. Since the important ones are missing, I cannot tell you the full extent of the experiment. But I can tell you that if this human survived the testing, they are very dangerous."

"In what way?" Abbie questioned.

"Well, for example," she picked up two of the papers, "this one here describes the formula used to enhance the brain's electrical pulses, while this one shows that they some how managed to develop a way for humans to control elements, such as water, and fire."

"Wow!" Jones breathed, "but, I still don't see the downside."

"The downside, is that the experiment was never stabilized," Grace sighed, "what that means, is that the scientists were unable to train the human they tested on, and with all the implants they had surgical implanted in them, the odds are high that they died years ago."

"Was there anything else that you managed to find?" Abbie asked.

She nodded, "I tested the bleach, and unlike you, the killer forgot to wear gloves. Some of the bleach got on their skin and with it, managed to remove traces of DNA."

"So, you have the killer's DNA?" Jones concluded.

"Part of it," Grace clarified, "it wasn't enough to make a complete profile, but I did manage to deduce that your killer is a man."

"Way to go, Grace!" Abbie cheered.

"And that's not all!" she grinned, "I tested some of the ink, and I found some that's only about a few hours old. Which means it could have only been written by your killer. So, your killer knows biology!"

"Hey, Abbie," Jones says think, "so far three of our suspects have knowledge in biology, I don't think we should talk to Patricia or Gustave so soon, but Wilma might be able to explain this experiment to us. After all, she was the neuroscientist working on it."

"Good idea," Abbie agreed, "let's go see her before she goes to sleep."

They left the station and drove over to the Griffin house on the edge of the Financial Center. They rang the musical doorbell and waited for and answer. Wilma's husband answered the door, and after introducing themselves, he let them in and called for his wife. A few second later, Wilma came down the stairs and her husband gave them some privacy.

"Wilma, we're sorry for visiting you this late," Abbie apologized, "but we recently came across some of Switch Laboratories research papers, and we're hoping you could explain to us what it was about."

Wilma's eyes glazed over, "NSP."

"I'm sorry?" she blinked.

"NSP," she repeated, "that was the . . . kid's name."

"You experimented on a kid?!" Jones yelled.

"Shh!" she begged, "I didn't know it was a kid at the time, Tori didn't tell me anything, she just gave me his brain scans and told me to examine them. Find out what was wrong with him, and how the tests were affecting his development. I had no idea how was so young!"

"Do you know what was done to him?" he asked holding back his anger.

"I know that they mutated his DNA and biology, crossed it with multiple species from the animal Kingdom," she answered, "NSP was remarkable, a feat of the human mind! Not only was he immune to all forms of diseases, but his aging would have completely stopped at thirty! He was immortal!"

"Was?" Abbie echoed.

Wilma flushed, "he could still be killed, but it would be very hard to do. He healed in seconds thanks to his evolved immune systems and mitosis in his cells."

"But what about the implants he was given?" she asked, "and the other mutation he received?"

"I don't know about those," she admitted, "but I do know, that when I found out what Tori was trying to do, I back out of the program. I wanted no part in destroying that child's life."

"Thank you for your time, Wilma," she says leading the way to the door, "the information you gave was very helpful."

"Good night, officers," she said closing her front door.

Jones, Abbie and Hunter drove back to the station, no closer to catching their killer. They updated their suspects profiles at their desks and a few minutes later, Alex came into the room.

"That USB you sent me had been whipped off," he grumbled, "there wasn't anything on it."

"Nothing?!" both Jones and Abbie gasped.

"Nothing, my guess is the victim used it as a dummy USB. To throw people off who were looking for her research," he explained, "now if only we could find-"

"Guys!" Ramirez cut him off entering the room, "I found him!"

They didn't need to ask who he meant, for right behind the field officer was their Head ME, Nathan. The coroner was wearing his scrubs and lab coat, slightly rumpled like he had slept in them. His lab hat was missing, letting his messy black hair free. He looked nervous to be there, with his teammates keeping their eyes on him.

"Nathan, in our room," Jones told him leading him to the interrogation room. The other complied and fallowed the older man with Abbie and Hunter close behind them. Jones opened the door and directed Nathan to sit in the chair. Then the police officers to the seats across form him and got to work.

"Where have you been?" Jones asked.

Nathan fidgeted in his seat, "I-I must have forgot I had work today . . ."

"Nathan, you always have work, you practically live in the morgue!" he shouted, "you didn't answer your cellphone, or your home phone. None of your neighbors saw you today, and Ramirez had to hunt you down! While we're in the middle of a murder investigation, with no autopsy report and our coroner is a suspect in it!"

"What?!" he yelped shocked, "you think I killed her?!"

"How did you know it was a her?" Abbie questioned.

He gulped, "R-Ramirez told me a bit, but I don't know anything!"

"Then how come we found a phone form the Pear store in your tool bag?" she asked.

"I don't know!" Nathan insisted, "someone must have put it there! I've never been to that store!"

"Maybe not, but are still a suspect," Jones glared, "what do you know about a Victoria Holt?"

His eyes widened, "s-she used to come to my orphanage. She was a volunteer doctor, along with a small team of experts. S-she wanted to help us. She wanted to make our lives better . . ."

"And did she?" Abbie asked.

"No," he says, his eyed darkening, "she got some of the others to participate in her experiment. She took them away form the orphanage to her lab, I never saw those kids again . . . she sentenced them to adhōlōka!"

"I don't know what adhōlōka means, but I'm guessing it isn't a vacation destination," Jones commented, "it's getting late, let's call it a night."

"Before we call it a day," Abbie joked opening the door.

She led the way back to the office space with Hunter by her feet as the boys fallowed behind her. They entered the office and found the rest of the team waiting for them, Chief King stood in the center with his arms crossed. He didn't look happy.

"Where the  _hell_  have you been, Nathan?!" King barked glaring at the man.

Nathan cowered under his boss's stare, "u-uh, I-I was, huh. I was at h-home."

"Why?! You have work! We have a  _case_  and nobody to autopsy the victim!" he growled, "your lucky I don't lock you in the back up morgue and put you to work all night!"

"Uh, Alab?" Abbie cut in, "Nathan can't preform the autopsy."

"And why not?" King demanded.

"Well, you see . . ." she scratched her cheek, "he is kinda, sorta . . . possibly, and you'll find this funny . . . a suspect in the murder?"

He was silent for a while. The rest of the team waited anxiously for a response from the Chief. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, King slowly walked forward to Nathan until he stood directly in front of the short male. He raised his hand and cuffed the coroner upside the back of his skull.

"Nathan!" King spat, "what were you  _thinking_  getting involved with Switch Laboratories again!? You know what happened the last time you messed with them! What about Avi? You have a  _son_  at home, remember?!"

"I-I-I d-didn't mean t-to," Nathan stuttered with wide eyes, "t-they came to m-me! I tried to make them leave, b-but they wouldn't!"

"February 5, 1996," he said, "we do not need a repeat."

Nathan started to sweat at the mention of the date. No one said anything as they waited to see what he would do. Abbie glanced at her best friend and saw a crackle of light in his blue eye, like a spark of lighting danced across it. She opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off as the lights around the room all flickered off. Everyone made a sound of fright at the sudden black out, Chief King, Jones, and Abbie each found a flashlight and flicked them on.

"Is everybody alright?" King asked.

"Fine," Grace answered as Abbie turned her light to her.

"Did the fuses bust?" Alex wondered as he and Jones inspected some of the overhead lights.

King sighed, "no, the light bulbs burst. I'll have the maintenance man come in tomorrow and replace them."

"So, what do we do now?" Ramirez asked.

"Go home," he ordered, "there's nothing more that can be done tonight."

They took the stairs down to the parking garage after grabbing their stuff. Nathan had vanished when the lights had gone out, so he was long gone by the time they reached their cars. Ramirez, Jones, Alex, and Chief King all got into their cars and headed home for the night, leaving Grace, Abbie and Hunter alone in the parking lot.

"Hey, Grace!" Abbie called over sling a leg over her seat.

"Yes?" she replied pausing as she opened her car door.

"Those formulas we sent you, the once about the experiment," she clarified, "did they prove if . . . the subject had survived the procedure?"

Grace nodded, "the formulas were a success, the experiment passed all tests. If it wasn't for the fire, I would say they would still be out there."

"But, if it improved the human, and allowed it to control elements, such as fire, what's to say they aren't immune to the elements as well?" she theorized.

"It's possible," she agreed, "why?"

"Just a theory . . . good night, Grace," she says as she put on her helmet.

"Good night, Abbie, Hunter," she replied getting into her car.

_**The next morning, in Chief King's office . . .** _

"So, what do you two have so far?" King asked leaning back in his chair.

Jones was still upset about Nathan's situation, so Abbie answered for him

"We know that the killer is a man who eats Singhare ki Barfi, and has knowledge in biology," Abbie reported, "so far, none of our suspects fit that profile, yet. But . . . we do have to add that Nathan knows biology."

"We are duty bound, no matter how much we dislike it," he hummed, "Jones?"

"Huh?" the detective raised his head.

"Stop sulking and get working!" King yelled, "I know you want to prove Nathan is innocent, but sitting around and mopping about him being a suspect isn't going to help him!"

Jones lept to his feet, "yes Chief! Abbie and I are going back to the Pear store to look for more clues right now!"

"Good," he smirked satisfied.

Abbie and Hunter fallowed the senior detective to the elevator and they road down the ground floor. They climbed into their squad car and Jones turned the keys then speed off to the burned electronics store. Some vandals had spray-painted graffiti on the doors, and windows, but other then the new art work, nothing had changed.

They entered the dark space and looked around. The chair that Victoria had been tied to was still in the center, with the electrical cables laying on the ground next to it. Abbie and Hunter checked around the room for clues, but found nothing more then some piles of ash, and chard wood. Abbie stood next to the chair and looked around the burnt room, her eyes landed on a display case pushed into a corner of the room.

"Can that be moved?" she asked pointing to the trunk-sized case.

Jones walked over to it and grabbed the sides, he shifted the display case an inch from the wall, "its not bolted down. Why does it have to be moved?"

"We're about to find out," Abbie replied walking over to help him.

Together they moved the display case away from the wall. They looked at the space that it had been covering and were shocked to find that the floor wasn't what was underneath it. A small hatch, about a foot smaller then the display case, was set into the floor and was locked with a pass code. Abbie pouched in the code, and the latch beeped open. She lifted it up and they saw a set of stairs leading down to an underground basement.

They each grabbed a flashlight form the car before heading down to investigate. Jones went first and shined his light around the walls, looking for a light switch. He found one just a foot from the staircase, and he flicked on the florican tube lights. They looked around in shock.

The room they stepped into was an underground laboratory. It had computer monitors lining one wall displaying DNA strands, atoms, and cells. A table covered in test-tubes, beakers, and flasks filled with various chemicals ran along the wall opposite it. In one corner of the room, a large cylindrical vat filled with a clear fluid stood about a foot taller then Jones.

"What is this place . . ." he asked.

"I think we know why Gustave kept this store now . . ." Abbie muttered looking all around, "if I didn't know it could have been used to experiment on a kid, I would say this is incredible!"

"Think the killer has been down here?" he wondered examining the test-tubes.

"Maybe," she says looking around.

Abbie looked around the computer monitors and found two things hidden under the desk. One was a faded piece of paper with the Switch Laboratories' logo stamped in the top left-hand corner. The other was torn photo. She picked up the items as Hunter began to bark. She looked over to the K-9 and saw her sitting by the vat of fluid. Abbie walked over and saw that she had found a blue lab hat.

"Nice catch, Hunt," she grinned rubbing the dog's ears, "Jones, we got somethings!"

"What do you have?" he asked coming over, "a faded piece of paper, a torn-up photo, and a lab hat. What could they give us?"

"Well, there's some strains of hair in this hat," Abbie says pulling out a pair of tweezers, "best that we send a sample of them to Grace to find their owner."

"Agreed," Jones nodded, "and the faded paper?"

She handed him the small bag holding the hair sample. Once her hands were freed, she found her black powder and dusted it across the paper. The paper turned out to be a signed contract between Victoria Holt, and Patricia and Harry Bates.

"This contract states a forty-year agreement of employment between these three," Abbie read the contents, "form what I see here, Patricia and her husband were legally bound to return to working for Victoria even after 21 years!"

"Patricia didn't mention any of his when we talked to her," Jones frowned, "I say we show her this and see what she has to say."

"No argument here," she said working to tape up the picture. Once the image was repaired, it showed their victim and Gustave in the lab. The picture was a print out from a security camera so it showed an aerial view of the two, who were in the mists of a heated argument.

"Well," she whistled, "looks like these two partners didn't get along so well after all."

"I knew he was rubbing me the wrong way," he glared, "let's drop that hair sample off with Grace, then go ask him what their argument was about."

They left the Pear store after making sure that the entrance to the secret underground lab was sealed shut. Then the detectives rushed the hair sample up to the forensics lab for Grace to analyze. Once she had the sample, Jones drove the car over to Gustave's hotel. They found the scientist in the lounge area, sipping some wine and eating some sort of treat off of a sliver tray.

"Care for some Singhare ki Barfi, officers?" he asked gesturing to the tray, "they're not as good as the ones I have in India, but they'll do."

"No thank you," Abbie denied, "we have a photo of you and Victoria in a heated argument, we think your partnership wasn't as solid as you told us it was."

Gustave grinded his teeth, "we just weren't seeing eye to eye, that's all. She wanted to use our old lab as a base of operations, but I said that it wouldn't be a good idea with our current project."

"Would it have anything to do with NSP?" she asked watching the colour drain from his face.

"W-where did you hear that name?" he choked.

"A little birdy told us," she smirked, "we know you used to experiment on a kid, so I think it would be in your best interest to tell us what you know."

"Look, all I did was the surgeries the brat needed, Victoria was the one orchestrating it all," he glared, "she developed the mutation formulas, she administered them, and she was the one who let the monster have a mental breakdown and blow the place up! I was trapped under the rubble for almost a week! I'm lucky that I reached the bunker in time!"

"Did the kid die?" Jones inquired.

"No one knows," he snorted, "but I hope he died I painful, miserable death if he did. And if not, then he better die one soon."

"Sir, this person was just a kid," he reminded, "he couldn't have known what he was capable of."

"Of, that freak knew it alright, Victoria told him everyday," he spat, "she would tell him how strong he was, how he would change the world, that he could cure anything, that he would be a hero! Ha! As if that  _monster_  would do anything great, all he brought was pain, misery, and destruction! And the it was our job as the rational humans to tell him!"

"I think were done here," Abbie cut in seeing Jones's face turning redder and redder with each comment the scientist made, "goodbye, Gustave."

She grabbed her partner's arm and Hunter helped herd him out of the hotel lounge. They made it outside and to their car just in time for Jones to lose it. He kicked the tires and hubcaps mercilessly as he let out a string of curse words that would have a sailor blushing. After a few minutes of venting his frustration out, he placed his hands on the trunk of the car and took in some deep breaths. The cold air whipped as his scarf while Abbie stood beside him with the wind moving her purple capelet.

"Are you alright?" she asked concern lacing her words.

"I will be once we arrest the SOB who killed that woman," he growled, "it's times like this I wish I could legally drink on the job."

"Here," she reached into the car and grabbed her travel mug, "its not alcohol, but I think it's the next best thing."

He took the mug with a "thanks" and drowned the rest of the dark liquid in one go. He gave it back to her and they got into their car. Abbie took the wheel and drove over to the Grimsborough Aquarium to find Patricia again. The hydrologist was back in her main lab, this time she appeared to be testing the reaction between to chemicals.

"Make this quick," Patricia ordered, "I have a plate of Singhare ki Barfi waiting for me in the break-room, and I don't want those annoying assistants eating them all, again!"

"We'll try," Abbie promised pulling out the contract, "would you like to read this contract, or shall I?"

She turned around, "what-where the hell did you get that from?!"

"We found it in a secret underground laboratory," she replied tucking the paper away, "so Victoria had you and he husband agree to a forty-year employment under her."

"Ha!" she cackled, "that bitch thought she could come in here, wave a non-legal document in my face and have us come back!"

"Non-legal?" Jones repeated.

"She never got it finalized," Patricia clarified, "but she thought our signatures which we signed over twenty years ago, would still be enough of an agreement to force us to work for her."

"Was Victoria always this demanding?" he asked.

She snorted, "I don't think she knew how not to be demanding. She just wanted to change the world, even if that meant destroying many children's' lives to achieve it."

"Thank you, Patricia," Abbie says, "we won't keep you from your work any longer."

The detectives and dog left the hydrologist to her work before they could see the result of the chemical reaction. They got in their squad car just as Abbie's cellphone began to ring. She pulled it out and placed it on speaker phone when she saw who was calling.

"What did you find out, Grace?" she asked balancing the phone on her fingers.

"Huh . . . I don't know how to say this . . ." she responded nervously.

"Say what?" she prompted.

"The hair . . . the hair is Nathan's," she sighed. A ringing silence rang through the air as the words were spoken. No one wanted it to be true, but all three knew there was no denying it.

"It . . . can't be . . ." Jones breathed, "he, he wouldn't go there . . ."

"At least not willingly," Abbie frowned, "I don't like the idea of it either, but the proof is there . . ."

"Proof or not, I want to hear what he has to say to all this," he says starting the car.

He drove straight over to Nathan's house in the Historical Center. He barely had the car parked before he leapt out of it and ran to the front door with Abbie and Hunter hot on his heels. He knocked on the door and waited for an answer. After a bit of time passed and no one came, Jones grumbled something unclear as he looked for his key to the front door. He found the right one on his key ring and raised it to the lock but was halted by Abbie grabbing his wrists.

"What?" he asked annoyed at prevention she caused.

"The letters on that key," she nodded to the word etched into the key head, "what do they mean?"

"NS. P? There Natey's initials- oh shit!" he cursed realizing what she was getting at, "you don't think he-?"

"Only one way to find out," she said realising his hand.

He unlocked the front door and they let themselves in. Jones called out for his friend not expecting a response. They didn't get one, so Abbie headed up the stairs to find him while Jones looked around the bottom floor. She found the coroner in his bedroom sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to her as he painted on a canvas. She blinked it surprise at how he looked, he wasn't wearing his scrub shirt so she saw for the first time that he had a tattoo of a cottonmouth snake on his right shoulder, the black snake curled around in a perfect circle with the end of its tail in its mouth. A pair of headphones were over his ears and she reached up to remove them.

"I know you're there," Nathan says not turning around.

Abbie jumped, "how?"

He removed the headphones and she heard faint death metal playing form them, "did you say something?"

"How did you know I was here if you couldn't hear me?" she asked.

"Secret," he smirked. His eyes widened as he remembered the position he was in, "apaśabda!"

Abbie laughed as she watched her friend fumble around for his shirt which he had left discarded on the floor. He pulled it on over his head and smiled sheepishly as she continued to laugh.

"Sorry," he apologized.

"Hmm . . ." she hummed, "it wasn't a bad view."

Nathan sputtered as she let out another fit of laughter at his embarrassment. Once her humor subsided, she explained how her and Jones had come over to talk to him again. His face fell but he allowed her to lead him down the stairs to his living room where they sat down on his couch and chairs.

"Nathan," Jones drew a breathed chucking his keys on the coffee table, "we know you went to the secret laboratory under the Pear store, we found your hat with strands of your hair in it, and we know you NSP. Why did you lie to us?"

Nathan cradled his head in his hands, "I didn't want to . . . b-but I thought you would h-hate me."

"Why would we hate you?" he asked quietly.

"Because I'm a monster!" he cried tears in his eyes, "I'm a freak! A mutant! I didn't deserve to survive that explosion, and I still don't deserve to live!"

"That's not tru-"

"Yes, it is!" he interrupted, "I hated Victoria for what she did to me! She's turned me into a monster and forced me to watch the rest of the orphans die in that program! She made me  _kill_  some of them, just to test my powers! I didn't know what I was doing!"

"Nathan," Abbie reached out and cupped his hand, "that isn't you. You are not a monster, or a freak. You-"

"But I am!" he protested.

"Let me finish," she ordered, "you are our friend, you are a mother, you are the Head ME of the GPD. You are not NSP, you are Nathan- wait, what's the rest of your name?"

"Nathan Nilam Pandit," he replied.

"You are Nathan Nilam Pandit," she smiled softly, "now, just tell us why you went to the lab."

Nathan whipped his eyes, "Victoria came to my house a few days ago, I don't know how she found me. She wanted to run some tests to see how I was, I denied to help her, but she would back down. I tried to get her to leave, but then Avi came down because he had a nightmare, and . . . she threatened to hurt him if I didn't go with her. So, I went, but she didn't get to test me."

"Why?" Jones asked.

"I . . . might have done something to her . . ." he mumbled adverting his eyes.

"Nathan . . ." he sighed, "what did you do?"

"I didn't hurt her!" he insisted, "I just, sent a small electric pulse to her brain to erase her memory of my house and our meeting. Alright, so maybe she passed out, but I swear she was alive when I left her!"

"Wait, you sent an electrical pulse to her brain?!" he shouted, "how?!"

He thought about how to go about it, "hand me your phone."

Jones did as he was asked reluctantly. Nathan popped off the phone case and the back of the phone. He pried out the slim battery pack and set it on the coffee table. He then placed his fingers where the battery had been, and they watched his right eye glow and the phone lit up.

"Wow!" the two-detective gasped.

"How did you do that?" Abbie wondered.

"One of the many powers Switch Laboratories gave me," Nathan answered, "along with a love for Singhare ki Barfi, I can do almost anything you can think of, I'm thankful no one else can."

Jones shared a look with his partner, "Nathan . . . you do know that Victoria wanted to restart the program, don't you?"

His eyes widened, "s-she wouldn't! she said she just wanted to run some tests on me, not-not-ow!"

He grabbed his right eye as he flinched. Abbie pushed his hand aside to get a look at it and gasped at what she saw. His tears in that eye ad turned to liquid electricity. The whites of his eye were blood shot, but the redness disappeared as it healed.

"I hate when that happens," he complained, "the one downside to my eye implants . . ."

"Eye implants?" she asked pulling her hand away.

He nodded, "I was born blind, they designed some implants to give me some minor vision. That's why I still need glasses, is that all you needed? Avi's going to be home soon, and I still have to find his stuffed owl."

"Yeah, we're done now," Jones answered grabbing his keys.

They left the townhouse and drove around town trying to make sense of what they had just learned. One of their best friends and teammates had just divulged being experimented on when he was just a child and had his life ruined by a psychotic scientist who wanted to revamp humanity.

"So, what now?" Jones asked after almost an hour of aimless driving.

Abbie mulled over what they knew in her head, "we know the killer broke into Nathan's morgue, what if he left more behind then we already thought?"

"Great idea!" he agreed, "let's go check it out!"

They rushed over to the police station and took the elevator down to the basement. Abbie entered the morgue with Hunter while Jones went to re-check the hallways. The female detective and the dog split up to search opposite ends of the morgue.

Abbie checked around the storage shelves where the bodies were stored until they were released to the funeral home. She looked around the floor and felt her hand hit something. She picked it up and saw that it was another Switch Laboratories' USB stick. She picked it as Hunter began to bark.

She joined the dog at the other end of the morgue to see what she had found. Hunter sat in front of a small retractable scalpel that had blood on the blade of the knife. She slipped on a pair of gloves as Jones came back.

"Did you find something?" he asked standing behind her.

"I have another USB stick for Alex, and a blood sample for Grace in a few seconds," she answered pulling out some tools.

"Well, don't let me stop you!" he laughed.

She smirked and got to work. It wasn't hard to get a sample off of the scalpel and she dropped the drops of blood on to a micro slide and put away the rest of the tools.

"Great job, Doc!" Jones praised, "let's get this stuff to the lab, and find the last pieces of evidence we need to catch our killer!"

_**Two lab analyses later . . .** _

"I have good news, guys!" Alex announced running into the office.

"I think any news is good news at the moment," Jones smirked, "what did you find?"

"Well, unlike the last USB you sent me, this one did have something on it," he grinned, "a picture of your killer!"

"Really?" Abbie asked.

He nodded, "it was fuzzy, and hard to make out anything distinct, since the guy never faced the camera. But I did manage to clear it up enough to make up the fact that your killer has black hair!"

"Even if over half our suspect have black hair, I still don't care!" he cheered.

"Then hopefully you will care when I give you the finale piece of evidence," Grace smirked as she joined the group.

"What did the blood tell you, Grace?" Abbie asked on the edge of her seat.

"The blood had gotten damaged when the killer left it in the morgue," she explained, "but there was still enough DNA left me to determine the killer's eye colour . . ."

"And?" all three asked.

She laughed, "and your killer . . . has green eyes!"

"Yes!" Jones shouted, "the one colour Nathan  _doesn't_  have!"

"An I know which suspect matches this profile to a 'T'." Abbie grinned, "let's go arrest a killer!"

Abbie grabbed her handcuffs and Jones grabbed his car keys. They jumped into the squad car and speed off with light flashing and sirens blaring for the five-star resort in the Financial Center. They got the security to guard the entrances and not let anybody out until they had made their arrest. The road the elevator up to the correct floor and banged on the room their killer was staying in.

Gustave opened the door ready to bark an order at the people who disturbed him, but the threat died on his lips when he saw who was standing there. Jones and Abbie were glaring at the man while Hunter snarled, daring him to try an escape.

"Gustave Olofsson," Abbie unlocked her handcuffs, "you are under arrest for the gruesome murder of Victoria Holt."

"Fuck! Gustave cursed, "I thought for sure you'd blame N-KP for it!"

"So, you did now he was still alive!" she exclaimed.

"Of course, I knew! Who do you think found him? That dumb bitch could find her way out of a hallway if it wasn't for me!" he yelled, "that brat was going to be my ticket to a better, richer life! After I killed her, I planned to take him with me back to India for testing,  _no one_  was going to miss him!"

**SMACK!!**

Jones pulled back his fist from Gustave's nose, "your wrong,  _we_  would miss him. And we would tear the world apart to get him back. He has a family here, and no one is allowed to take him away from us!"

"You're all fools!" Gustave spat out blood form his mouth, "that monster is nothing! Least of all family!"

"Enough from you," Abbie ordered snapping the cuffs on his wrists making sure they were tight, "you have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be . . ."

_**In the almost empty Courtroom . . .** _

"Gustave Olofsson," Judge Hall looed down at the Swedish man, "before I deliver your sentence, is there anything final words you would like to say."

"There are," Gustave replied standing up and looking around.

Only the GPD team was allowed to attend the trial do to the nature of the crime. The research that the Switch Laboratories' team had found needed to remain a secret, so they had burned all the evidence they had found, and wouldn't allow any of the public inside to hear the trial.

"I would like to say that I am not the murderer here," he call projecting his voice across the room, "I may have taken Victoria's out of this world, but her life had died years ago. When it killed her!"

He pointed a finger at Nathan, "it destroyed our home by burning it to the ground, after all we gave it, it's sight, it's powers, it's immortality. That is how it repays us?! By almost killing us?!"

Hall rapped her gavel, "Mr. Olofsson, that is enough! You have proven to the Court that you are not only a killer, but a delusional man who thought experimenting on a child was right, and I wish I could charge you for what you have done. For the murder of Victoria Holt, and for trying to frame it on a member of the Grim Police Department, I sentence you to life in a seclusion jail with no chance of parole! Court dismissed!"

Two court officers came into the room to lead the manic man out to his prison. The GPD team filed out of the Courtroom one at a time and stood in the lobby for a but. No one had spoken outside of their turn on the stand, but they now faced a greater challenge.

"Nathan," Ramirez spoke first to his friend, "I-I . . . I don't even know what to say to help you . . ."

Nathan couldn't meet anyone's eyes since the trial began, "there's nothing to be said, Eddy."

"Nathan," Jones held his brother's shoulders, "we're here for you, all of us are here for you. You know that, right?"

"I-I do," he nodded rubbing his eyes, "I . . . I think I'm going to go to my morgue and clean up."

"Alright, bud," he smiled, "we'll check in with you later."

They watched their coroner walked away form them and out of the front doors. The rest of the team waited a few minutes to make sure he had left before making their way outside to leave themselves. Jones, Abbie and Hunter went over to their car and were almost inside when Chief King came over.

"Hold on, Detectives," he told them.

"What is it, Alab?" Abbie asked.

"I got a call before the trial from both Dave Simmons and Wilma Griffin asking for your assistance," he informed, "I do want you to check in with Nathan, but I think it would be best if he had some alone time to think about things."

"Agreed," Jones nodded, "we'll go deal with those two then go visit Natey."

They climbed into the squad car and drove out to the realty office. Simmons was inside his office sitting at his desk banging on his keyboard in frustration. The bell above the door jingled as they entered and the man looked over at them.

"Finally!" Simmons cried, "you're here! I need your help!"

"We got that," Jones smirked, "what do you need?"

"I have a group of entrepreneurs coming next week to look at the Pear store," he explained, "but with that new . . . edition to it, I have to realize it at a different price. In order to do so I need to give the town-hall the old paper work along with the new ones. Unfortunately, I can't find the old paper work any where and my computer is down."

"So, let me guess, you want Abbie to find the form for you?" he said looking around the cluttered office.

"Please! I am begging you to help!" he wailed, "my career is on the line."

"Alright," Abbie agreed, "just sit down, have a coffee, and I'll find that form for you."

"Thank you," he breathed moving over to do that.

Abbie walked behind his desk and started going through the papers on the desk. None of them were what she was looking for and the drawers proved to be even less help then them. The computer was fried so there was no need to even try and print off a new form, so she looked under the desk to see if he might have dropped it. There were no papers on the floor, but there was a briefcase.

"This briefcase might be where Simmons put his paper," Jones pondered, "but it's locked, think you can crack it, Doc?"

"Does Hunter like dog-treats?" Abbie joked earning a bark for said dog. She tossed her K-9 partner one of the small bone shaped treats before getting to work. The briefcase had a standard lock consisting of letters and numbers on spinning dials on either side of the handle. She turned the cylinders with her fingers until she had the right code to open the locks.

"Perfect," she grinned, "now to find that document . . ."

With Jones's help searching through the piles of paper and other stationary items, they found the leasing document pertaining to the Pear Store that Simmons needed. They left the briefcase on his desk chair and walked over to the waiting area.

"Here you go, Simmons," Abbie said handing him the paper, "the document you need for the town-hall."

"Thank you, detective!" Simmons beamed taking the paper, "this sale will save my business!"

"We're happy to help," she replied, "I hope the sale goes well for you."

"You and me both," he laughed.

They left the small business shop and drove over to the Griffin house. Wilma's husband and kids had just left in the family van when the detectives parked on the side of the road. They walked up to stone path and rang to door bell. Wilma answered quickly.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're here," she breathed, "I really need your help."

"What can we do for you mama?" Jones asked.

"I know this is going to sound crazy," she bit her lip, "but I'm planning a funeral for Victoria. Her body is going to be cremated tomorrow, but she wasn't wearing her lucky ascot when I went to sign for her body."

"Her . . . lucky ascot?" he repeated.

"I know, after everything she did to NSP, some would say she doesn't deserve a funeral, but I want her body to have a final resting place," she sighed, "even if some part of me feels she doesn't deserve it . . ."

"Well help you find that ascot," Abbie promised, "we'll check the area where we found her body, it might have fallen off during the murder."

"Oh, thank you!" Wilma cried, "you have a wonderful heart!"

After getting a description of what the ascot looked like, a white fabric with an atom design on it. They left the house and drove over to the Pear Store. The tape had been taken off the door-frame and since the lock was broken, they could just let themselves in to look around. Abbie looked around the chair where Victoria had been tied up and found a pile of dusty fabric underneath it.

"How much do you want to bet this is the ascot we're looking for?" Jones asked seeing her pulling out the torn fabric.

"It has atoms on it, so I'd say we struck gold," Abbie replied, "or, at least we struck dust."

"You better grab you needle and thread," he says placing a hand on his hip, "that ascot looks like its gone through a shredder!"

She fallowed his advice and found the items she needed inside her shoulder bag. She spread the ripped pieces of fabric on the floor and found the matching pieces and sowed them together. Once it was done, she tied off the ends and shook off the dust from the ascot.

"Good as new!" she cheered, "I hope this is what Wilma was looking for."

"Me to," he agreed, "I'm still surprised that she's planning a funeral for Victoria though."

She shrugged, "even if you hated them more then anybody on this plant, would you still not want them to at least have a proper finial resting place?"

He ought about it, "I guess you right. Come on, let's go returned this to Wilma."

They closed the shop door behind themselves then headed back over to the house. Wilma seemed surprised when she opened her door and saw that the detectives were already back. She was even more surprised when Abbie handed her the ascot.

"You found it?!" she exclaimed, "oh, thank you so much!"

"Our pleasure," Abbie smiled, "I hope this makes the funeral easier for you."

"Oh, it does," she smiled softly, "most people forget that Tori used to be a nice person, that when she started her whole project, it was for the benefit of humanity . . . she just lost that vision somewhere along the way . . ."

"Well, I hope she is able to rest in peace now," she replied, "have a nice night, Wilma."

"And to you as well," she responded closing the door.

When they got back in the car, Jones turned on the engine and pulled out onto the main road. They drove in silence over to the police station and no one said a word until they were inside the parking garage.

"I still can't wrap my head around this," Jones sighed, "everything Nathan went through . . . he's been in pain for almost three decades, and he couldn't even tell anyone about it."

"Jones, he knew if he said something that people either wouldn't believe him, or he would end up back in a lab," Abbie whispered, "he kept quiet to survive."

"I still don't know what to think . . ." he says turning off the engine.

"There's nothing to think about," she replied, "he's still Nathan, he's still our friend no matter what hell he's been through."

He nodded, "your right."

"Aren't I always?" she smirked, "now come on, let's go see what we can help him with."

They got in the elevator from the parking garage and road it down to the basement. Nathan was cleaning up his morgue but had only gotten as far as picking up the scattered tools. He looked up when he heard the doors slid open to see who it was.

"Namastē," he greeted the three, "what can I do for you?"

"Actually, we're here to ask what we can do for you," Jones answered, "we know you have a lot of cleaning up to do, so we thought we'd offer our services to you."

"Thanks, but I have it covered. Besides, you don't even know where anything goes," he smirked.

"I do so!" he protested, "I know that the bodies go in those shelves over there!"

"Yes, but do you see any bodies that need to be put away?" he asked.

His face fell, "fair point."

"Is there anything else we could do for you?" Abbie asked.

"Well," Nathan looked around, "there is one thing, but only if you don't have anything better to do."

"Nonsense! We couldn't have anything better to do then to help you!" she assured, "so what do you need?"

"Do you remember my anklet, you know the gold one with the charms?" he directed the question at Jones.

He nodded, "I remember it."

"Well . . . I lost it," Nathan admitted sadly, "it's the only thing my father left for me before he moved. I've had it since before I was born and well . . . it's the only connection I have to him."

"Don't worry," Abbie smiled, "I'll find it for you, why don't you take a break and go home? Spend some time with Avi and clear your head."

"I . . . I think that's a good idea," he said realizing he had been moving the same tools around for the past half hours, "I'll be back after supper."

Once Nathan had left the morgue and got in the elevator, Abbie set to work on finding the anklet. Jones described it to her as she searched since she had never seen it before. She went over to his desk and pushed aside the papers littering the top and found a small gold charm bracelet.

The gold chain had four Indian style charms on it, an elephant, a turtle with an emerald shell, a lotus, and a Hindi word. Just as Jones had described it. She picked up the anklet and showed it to her partner for confirmation.

"That's it alright," Jones says, "it really is a beautiful anklet."

"And it's well made," Abie agreed, "his father must have wanted him to have something special to remember him by . . ."

"Yeah, say . . ." he got an idea, "would this type of jewelry have a serial number?"

"Most jewelry do," she replied looking it over. She found the small engraved numbers on the batch of the latch, "yup, right here, why?"

"Well . . . I know how much Nathan wants to find his biological father, and if his father bought this for him . . ."

"Then you want to trace the serial number to whoever purchased it almost thirty years ago."

He scratched his head, "call me crazy?"

"No, no," she shook here head, "I think it's a good idea. Just let me write down the numbers on a tag."

She pulled out the small paper tag and attached the string to the anklet the grabbed a pen to write the numbers with. She wrote the string of numbers and letter down on the tag then pocketed her pen.

"Now, to get this to Alex and hope he can find Nathan's dad," Jones prayed.

_**One serial number trace later . . .** _

Alex came into the head detectives' office about an hour later, carrying the anklet and a file folder loaded with papers. He dropped both of the items down on Abbie's desk causing the Muslim to look up.

"Did you kill a forest printing these?" she joked seeing the thick file folder.

"That's every piece of information pretraining to the man who bought Nathan's anklet thirty years ago," Alex informed he, "he was an American solider who was stationed in India during the war. He bought it in early September, about two months before Nathan was born, but was sent back home do to an injury a few weeks before the birth. He still lives in America just a few states over and works as a detective."

"Does he have a name?" Jones asked.

He nodded, "he does."

"I think we should let Nathan chose what to do with this information," Abbie says snapping some rubber bands around the file folder, "after all, it is his father."

"I think your right," Jones nodded, "Alex, promise you won't tell anyone about this with out Nathan's permission?"

"What does he need my permission for?" Nathan asked as he and Avi entered the office. Chief King, Grace, and Ramirez were with them.

Abbie held out the folder with his anklet on top, "we had Alex trace the serial number on your anklet. We found your father."

Nathan's eyes widened, "y-you did? From my anklet?!"

Alex chimed in, "I only knows who he is, and I won't tell anyone unless you let me."

"I . . . I don't know what to say . . ." he took the folder and anklet, "I don't even know if I want to know who he is . . ."

"Nathan," Grace gasped, "this is your  _father_ , you've wanted to find him for years! You can't give up now when the answer is right in front of you!"

"I know . . ." Nathan sighed, "its just, if I find out who he is, what's to say he wants to know me?"

"But mommy!!" Avi tugged his mother's lab coat, "I want to know who Grampa is! Please?!"

He looked down with another sigh, "alright, for you kaddoo. Let's see who Grampa is."

Nathan lowered himself to the floor and Avi climbed into his lap. He pulled off the rubber bands and gave them to the child to play with as he opened the file folder. He scanned the contents of the first page before closing it again.

"Well?" King asked.

"He works on the Golf Coast," he answered, "that's all your getting for now."

"Aw!" Ramirez wined, "I wanted to know who your father is!"

"A military man," he replied, "I get the feeling my family has a thing with working in law enforcement."

"Well, it's a start," Jones smiled, "maybe you'll get to meet him someday."

"Yeah!" Abbie agreed, "and send us a postcard when you do!"

Nathan laughed as he tickled Avi's sides, "if I ever meet him, I'll send you a  _deck_  of postcards!"


	24. The Last Supper

"Detective Abbie, your needed on a new case!" Chief King says once her, Hunter and Jones were in his office. Nathan stood beside the Chief at his shoulder, "a woman was found dead in her kitchen this morning. Considering the state of her body, a viral outbreak is to be feared!"

"Or she might have been in contact with a toxic substance," Nathan suggested.

"I don't want to run any risk," he barked, "Nathan is going to make sure this isn't a sanitary threat!"

"You act like we don't take him to ever crime scene!" Jones joked.

The four of them left the Chief's office and all hurried down to the employee parking lot. Abbie, Jones and Hunter climbed into their squad bar while Nathan hopped into his van. They hurried over to the crime scene with lights flashing and sirens blaring all the way to the condo building where the victim had been found. They took the elevator up to the forth floor and entered the landing in front of the condo door. The door had been left open so Nathan pulled on his mask to get a look inside the room.

Jones and Abbie stole two of the masks form his tool kit and slipped them over their mouths and peered inside the room behind him. Daisy Thompson's body laid half sprawled across the kitchen island on her back, her right hand holding her throat limp. White foam was spilling out of her mouth and her eyes had a look of pure horror in them.

"Damn, have you seen her face?!" Jones exclaimed, "Nathan, are we at risk? Should we seal off the area?"

"No need," he said slipping off his mask, "your victim clearly died of food poisoning."

"Of course," Abbie rolled her eyes, "the signs are crystal clear!"

"Sarcasm, funny," he smirked, "but, as to say whether it was accidental or intentional . . . you should gather up everything she might have eaten before her death."

"Alright then, Abbie is on it!" Jones yelled shoving her into the condo.

Abbie shot him a look as she removed her mask. He just whistled innocently while staying on guard at the door. While the coroner worked to prepare the body for transport, the detective looked around the kitchen for any clues to the victim's death. She looked around the spotless kitchen and saw a red heart-shaped box of assorted chocolates laying just a foot from Daisy's head. She picked it up and walked along the perimeter of the island and found a greasy hot-dog wrapper on the side table. She touched the back of her hand to it and found the oily paper to still be warm to the touch.

"Well guys, the body's prepped," Nathan says zipping up the black bag, "I'll take it to the lab and see there for the autopsy results."

"Here you go," Jones slid the gurney over to him, "did you find anything, Doc?"

"A box of chocolates and a greasy hot-dog wrapper still warm to the touch," Abbie reported setting them on the island.

"But the label on it is illegible," he squinted to see it, "can you have a look?"

"Who do you think I am?" she smirked getting. She chose to tackle the chocolate box first and popped its lid and dumped the loose chocolates onto a plastic bag.

"We should go talk to her husband," Jones continued, "he's the one who found the body, I can't imagine how he is feeling right now . . ."

"Might be happy if Ashely pays him a visit," she answered holding up the card that came with the sweet box.

"Let's see," he said as she handed him the note, "Congratulations, Love Ashely." I don't know for you, but I don't send people heart-shaped chocolate boxes just to congratulate them. Let's send this note to Alex, see if he can figure out who is this "Ashely" who sent the chocolate box."

Jones dropped the card onto Nathan's gurney as he passed by. Abbie grabbed the hot-dog paper and decided to try out her turquoise eyes on it. The pieces of the letters that were still visible were hard to see, and as she stared at the paper the missing parts came to her. She called out what she saw before she could forget them.

"Good job, Abbie!" Jones grinned scribbling down what she had said, "so this hot-dog paper some form Alfred Ziegler's stall . . ."

"Ahh . . . Jones? A warm hot-dog wrapper is found near a victim of food poisoning, with no hot-dog in sight," she explained, "how exactly does this look to you?"

He gulped, "your right . . . this hot-dog might have been the last thing Daisy ate before she died. We need to talk to Alfred!"

She nodded, "let's check in with Mr. Thompson first."

They left the condo and walked over to the next ascending staircase, where Gabriel Thompson was sitting on the lower steps with his elbows resting on his knees. He stood up when he heard them coming in order to properly greet them.

"Mr. Thompson, we're so sorry for your loss," Abbie told the man, "I'm Detective Abbie and this is my partner Jones and Hunter. We will do everything we can to find your wife's killer."

"Yes, Daisy's death is a tragedy," Gabriel sighed, "but oh well . . . life goes on, doesn't it?"

"If you don't mid me saying so," Jones inquired raising an eyebrow, "you seem to take your wife's death pretty well . . ."

"Well . . ." he adjusted his necktie, "our love was long gone. We had nothing to say to each other anymore. Yesterday, for example, we went to a posh restaurant and she didn't say a word during lunch."

"Why didn't you just get a devoice then?" he asked.

"Are you insane?!" he laughed, "divorcing Daisy would have lowered my standards of living by half! Love isn't essential to make a marriage work."

"Well agree to disagree," he glared ending the conversation. Him and the girls headed down the stairs to the front entrance.

"Is anybody in this town ever sad upon losing a relative?!" Jones yelled throwing his hands up, "they're all so cynical, don't you think, Abbie?"

"I think its best if I don't give my açık sözlü answer," she replied opening the car door.

They got inside and dove over to main street where Alfred had his hot-dog cart set up. They found him finishing off the lunch rush and Jones pulled out a picture of Daisy from his pocket.

"Hello Alfred!" he called as they neared, "we were wondering if you had served this woman yesterday. I'm afraid she died shortly after eating here."

". . . Jones," Alfred chuckled, "are you holding up a picture in front of me? Should I remind you I'm blind?"

He flushed as sweat beaded on his forehead, "well this isn't awkward at all . . . huh."

"Do you remember serving a Daisy Thompson recently?" Abbie asked saving her partner, "she was found dead this morning."

"Daisy?! Of course, I remember her, she comes here everyday!" he informed them, "a few hours ago, she came around, but she wasn't feeling very well. I heard her throw up nearby.  _She's dead?!"_

"Yes, of food poisoning," Jones sighed, "I'm sorry, but if Daisy ate here, we're going to have to take a look at your stall, Alfred."

"Of course, anything to catch her killer," he nodded taking a few steps from his stall.

Abbie and Hunter took a look around the stall for anything Daisy could have left behind during her last visit. She checked the side of the cart that the customers stood at when ordering and found a chunky pile of sick on the ground. Hunter bravely sniffed it and barked in disgust backing away.

"I guess this is Daisy's last meal," she cringed kneeling down, "or, part of it."

She slipped on a pair of rubber gloves and grabbed a disposable scrapped from her bag along with a plastic evidence bag. She chipped away at the pile of vomit and slowly transferred the yellow-green pieces into her bag. Once she had it all, she threw her scraper and gloves in the trash and kept the bag a good five inches from her body.

"Ugh, that's disgusting!" Jones gagged seeing what she had found, "Alfred was right, obviously she wasn't feeling well. The sooner we take this to the lab, the better!"

They bid goodbye to the blind man and headed back to the station to see what the others had found and deliver the bag-o-sick to Grace. Boy, was she going to love them. They dropped the bag in her lab and hurried over to Alex's before she could find something to hurt the detectives with.

"So, Alex!" Jones clapped his hands together looking over his shoulder to make sure the red-head wasn't after them, "do you know who sent the box of chocolates?"

"I crossed the chocolate box's note with a list of their relatives, friends, and colleges," he explained making a drumroll with his fingers, "and the winner is . . . Ashely Collins! She's the assistant to Gabriel Thompson, the victim's husband."

"I take it you looked into him?" Abbie smirked.

He grinned, "you know me so well . . . he is the CEO of an investment bank in Eastfield Market. He made a little fortune a few years ago, thanks to an educated guess on the stock exchange."

"And this is why you're the tech expert," she praised, "do you have Ashely's contact info?"

"Just give me one sec," he sys typing on his keyboard.

"I'm eager to know why she wanted to congratulate her boss with a heart-shaped box of chocolates . . ." Jones pondered, "I'll ask Ramirez to bring her in when she arrives. Let's go see what Nathan found while we wait."

They left the tech lab and road the elevator down to the basement. Nathan was waiting for them to arrive sitting on the third autopsy table, legs crossed and his pencil moving across his sketchbook. It was remarkable how fast he bounced back after A Shock to The Team.

"The victim was definitely poisoned," he told them not looking up from his drawing, "her stomach is half empty, so she may have thrown up, but the damage was already done."

"We know," Abbie stuck out her tongue, "Grace has the other half in her lab right now."

Nathan looked up, "oh, she's going to love you guys! Anyway, the killer also added some detergent to the poison to delay its effects. With the combination of both detergent and poison, Daisy had no chance of survival."

"Honestly," Jones hummed, "I wonder what Daisy's last meal must have been like for her not to notice the taste of poison and detergent!"

"Couldn't tell you, it was to digested for m to find out," he informed flipping his sketchbook around, "look, I made Hunter."

On the paper of his sketchbook was a bust of the German Sphered, her head tipped to one side and the long tongue hanging out the side of her mouth. It wasn't in colour, but Nathan had used shading to bring out key features in the dog's fur, and eyes. It was so realistic that it looked like it was going to bark.

"Would you look at that, girl," Abbie smiled fluffing her K-9 partner's fur, "its you!"

 _"Arf!"_  Hunter barked wagging her tail in approval.

"I'll take that as a 'like'," Nathan smiled flipping to a fresh page.

They left the morgue and headed up stairs to check in with Ramirez. The field officer informed them that Ashely Collins had arrived at the station a few minutes ago and he had put her in interrogations for them. They thanked him and headed inside to speak with her.

"Miss Collins," Jones greeted, "I'm Detective Jones and this is Abbie. Why did you send a chocolate box to your boss? To celebrate the death of his wife maybe?"

"Don't be silly!" Ashely scoffed, "he finally signed a big contract with a client, I wanted to celebrate with him, that's all!"

"I don't think ending a note with "love" is very professional, am I wrong?" he asked.

"Let's just say he was a little fed up with his wife and I was doing my best to cheer him up!" she smirked.

They let Ashely go free but gave her orders to not leave town anytime soon. Then they went to check in with Grace about the puke from Alfred's stall. When they entered the forensics lab, the woman shot them an angry look and they chose to stay by the door for their safety.

"Thanks for bring me this right before my lunch-break, guys," she grumbled, "I don't think I'll have that hot-dog after all then . . ."

"Sorry, Grace," Abbie apologized nervously, "but I thought it would give us something."

"Oh, it did," she confirmed, "I found pigments from nail hardener in it. Nathan says the victim's nail were perfect and had no traces of nail polish. There is no doubt that your victim ingested this nail polish; the pigments have been attacked by the gastric juices."

"Which means Daisy's poisoner is the one who wears nail hardener!" Jones deduced.

"I know you can be old fashion, Jones," Grace stopped him from leaving, "so I'm warning you, that this kind of nail hardener is warn by both men and women."

He blushed, "I knew that . . ."

"Sure, you did . . ." she chuckled.

They headed out of the lab and went back to their office to update their reports and killer/suspect profile. Once they were don't, they decided to go over what they knew.

"In this day and age, I can't believe people would use poison to kill someone," Jones muttered shaking his head, "I don't think I'll ever get Daisy's face out of my head."

"I'm hear if you need to talk," Abbie assured him, "let me distract you. We've figured out that the killer wears nail hardener and used detergent to delay the poison effects . . . but now we don't have any leads left."

"The only thing left to do is brainstorm!" he suggested, "Nathan has been decisive so far, we should go to his lab."

"Maybe he's drawn another portrait of you, Hunt!" she laughed tossing her dog a treat as they fallowed him out of the office.

They entered the morgue but saw no signs of Nathan around. Jones checked his friends desk and found a note saying he had to pick up Avi from school because he was sick. They waited for him to come back and about an half hour later, the coroner came in carrying his son in his arms. the child's face was twisted in pain and he whimpered softly.

"Khēda, guys," he breathed shifting Avi weight, "kaddoo got a milled case of food poisoning from lunch."

"Hold on," Abbie sys hurrying across the hall to the storage closet.

She grabbed a bunch of pillows off the shelves and Hunter grabbed a couple bundles of blankets. They hurried back and she dumbed the pillows on the ground by Nathan's desk. She set them up like a small cloud and covered them with one of the blankets. Nathan set Avi down in the center and tucked the last pillow underneath his head and pulled the second blanket over his shaking body. Then he set the backpack on his desk and dropped down next to his kid. Hunter curled up with the boy and Avi wrapped his arms around her like a stuffed toy.

"Will he be okay?" Abbie whispered.

Nathan nodded pulling the GPD ballcap off, "a good night's rest and some medicine will do the trick."

Jones cleared his throat, "I hate to distract you-"

"Please do," he begged.

"-but we need to have a brainstorm for ideas," he finished.

"A brainstorm? Let me start!" he sys thinking, "your killer must be well-versed in the art of cooking; they knew exactly what to cook to disguise the taste of poison."

"Well, we know Alfred is an amazing cook," Abbie remarked, "we should pay him another visit."

"Alright, I'll admit it. Isn't he the best hot-dog maker in town?" Jones asked rhetorically, "what else?"

"Considering the poison had been mixed with detergent, I'd say it may have taken up to 12 hours for Daisy to feel the poisons effects," Nathan explained as his door slid open. Ramirez came inside and saw his teammates sitting in the circle on the ground.

"Hey! I want to brainstorm too!" he yelled digging into his pocket, "I read the statement of her husband and-"

"Ramirez, this is a grown-up conversation," Jones said as if talking to a small child, "don't you have some parking tickets to fill?"

"Hey, I can be useful!" he huffed, "I did my own research, and the posh restaurant Gabriel and Daisy usually went to for lunch is called "Chez Valentine."

Nathan and Abbie giggled as Jones blushed. The detective quickly composed himself and stood up.

"Chez Valentine! I've always wanted to go there," he says with still a dusting of pink on his cheeks, "now at least I've got a reason to take a look at their kitchen! So, Abbie, what do you want to start with?"

"Let's check in with Alfred," her answer.

Jones nodded at his partner, "agreed."

"Yeah," she took the offered hand and raised to her feet, "say, you weren't able to ID what food the poison was in, could you Nathan?"

Nathan shook his head, "it was half thrown up and too digested. Why?"

"Just a theory," Abbie replied, "you coming, Hunt?"

Hunter stayed put and fell asleep with Avi, "looks like she's staying to protect him."

She bent down and placed a kiss to Avi's temple and whispered a goodbye to Nathan. The coroner pulled his son's head onto his lap and brushed his fingers through the dark locks. Abbie praised Ramirez for his good work on her way by and hopped in the elevator before it could close.

Once they were outside, they got in their squad car and headed over to main street to talk to Alfred. Jones fidgeted nervously in his seat as Abbie drove closer to the hot-dog stall. She parked the car a few spaces from it and they got out.

"Hum . . . sorry Alfred . . . but we need to have a look at your stall again . . ." Jones stuttered, "Daisy was poisoned by someone who knows how to cook and-"

"Ha ha!" Alfred laughed cutting him off, "Jones, your teammates and you a funny! If it's your pleasure to search around my stall, go ahead!"

He breathed a sigh of relief, "thank you for your understanding, Alfred."

"We have to stay unbiased," Abbie added.

The blind man gave them some space to work and Abbie took a closer look at the vendor's side of the stall. She checked inside the cupboards but found all the meats and toppings to be sealed in plastic containers organized neatly in rows. She checked the top and saw that a pile of hot-dogs was off to the side, a green liquid dripping from them. She slipped on some gloves and picked on up, taking an tentative sniff. The meat cylinders smell faintly of disinfectant.

"Uh-oh!" Jones groaned seeing what she had, "a bottle spilt on Alfred's hot-dogs . . . it must be jelly, right?"

"If jelly's main ingredient is disinfections, then yeah, we'll go with jelly," she whispered taking a sample of the green liquid.

"If you insist," he mumbled watching her, "let's send this substance to the lab to know what spilled on Alfred's stall . . . I really hope this won't accuse Alfred."

They said goodbye to Alfred and rushed the sample to Grace then headed over to Chez Valentine to check out the kitchen. They parked in the posh restaurant's parking lot and flashed their badges at the hostess at the front door. Jones and Abbie then weaved their way through the tables and booths where couples and singles were mingling over food and drinks. When the reached the swinging kitchen doors, they pushed them open and entered the busy space.

"Wow," Abbie breathed looking around, "look at that desert cart."

"You're right, Abbie, everything looks delicious!" Jones's mouth watered, "but we shouldn't forget that we're investigating a food poisoning."

A woman in a chef's uniform hit her spoon against the range hood, "what the hell is your team doing in my restaurant! I won't allow this!"

"Mrs. Montgomery, I presume, the decision is not up to you!" Jones informed the woman ushering her and the cooks aside, "now, step aside please, Detective Abbie needs to have a look around."

The head chef fumed but moved off to the side along with her employees. Abbie walked around the room and nearly kicked a pile of papers under the center work table. She bent down and gathered them up and set them on the bench by the coat pegs. She raised her head and saw a blue stain on one of the chefs' aprons. She looked around but saw nothing with any blue food around.

She took a sample of the blue substance and placed the sample under her microscope. She hooked the cable up to her laptop and compared the molecules with the database. She found that it was a detergent stain, the chemical composition was the same as the one Nathan found in Daisy's stomach. She waved Jones over.

"What did you find?" he asked.

She pointed to the screen, "detergent. The same as in Daisy's stomach."

"Abbie, we should go have a talk with Valentine Montgomery," he whispered shooting a glance at her over his shoulder.

"And a talk with the guy who wrote this," she muttered skimming the article she had just restored while they were talking, "take a look at this."

He quickly skimmed the content, "this is quite the inflammatory review! No wonder Valentine tore it up!"

"The food critic is Tobias Sharp," Abbie informed tapping the name under the headline, "he wrote that Chez Valentine is the dirtiest place he has ever eaten at and that he wouldn't be surprised if the beef in his plate had been replaced by rat meat!"

"Obviously he didn't like dinning here!" Jones snorted, "it's a little surprising, is he talking about the same place? It does not seem to be such an unhealthy place!"

"Neither does some bathrooms, but the dirty stuff is always able to hide," she says grabbing the apron off it's peg. She bagged the rest of the stuff and they headed over to the head chef to talk to her.

"Mrs. Montgomery," Abbie held up the apron, "do you recognize this apron?"

"Of course!" Valentine huffed, "it's mine!"

"That's what Detective Abbie wanted to know," Jones says, "are you using this detergent to clean your kitchen?"

"Yes, I am!" she barked, "I don't understand why you are asking those stupid questions officers! My kitchen is irreproachable!"

"Very well," he nodded, "that's all Detective Abbie wanted to know."

Valentine gripped her spoon so tight her knuckles turned white. The detective walked out of the kitchen in through the tables of customers. They headed outside and Abbie called Ramirez to track down the food critic and have him come in.

"What a control freak!" Jones commented, "but at least we know that she uses the same detergent as the one used to delay the poison's effects."

"But we still need to talk to Tobias," Abbie reminded, "Ramirez is brining him in."

They drove back to the station and took the elevator up to their office floor. Ramirez was waiting for them when they arrived, and informed them that Tobias Sharp was waiting for them in their secondary room. Abbie thanked him and asked him to run the green liquid sample from Alfred's hot-dogs over to Grace. They went their separate ways and once they were in the dark blue room, Abbie pulled the review out of her bag and placed it in front of the man.

"Mr. Sharp," Abbie sat across from him, "it seems you didn't enjoy your meal at Chez Valentine, to say the least . . ."

"There are to things I never joke about," Tobias says seriously pressing his fingertips together, "food quality, and hygiene. Chez Valentine fails on both accounts. I personally clean my kitchen with a detergent that kills 100% of the bacteria. I would expect Mrs. Montgomery to do the same."

"Also, the service is something to be desired!" he continued, "yesterday, I ordered a seafood risotto and ended up with bolognese spaghetti!"

"I see," Abbie nodded, "thank you for your time."

They called Ramirez to show Tobias out of the office and added him the Valentine to their suspect line up along with the fact that they both use detergent.

"Tobias Sharp really has a personal grudge against Valentine!" Jones remarked, "he seems to want nothing more than to publicly humiliate her . . ."

"But I still can't connect their feud to Daisy's death . . ." Abbie grumbled, "though I have a sneaky suspicion that the poison wasn't meant for Daisy . . ."

He blinked, "why do you say that?"

"It's something Tobias said, and the plot line for every fictional poisoning motive I've ever seen," she replied, "but we'll need more in order to prove my theory."

"I might be able to help you with that!" Grace called as she entered the room.

"Did you find out what that stuff Abbie collected form Alfred's hot-dog stall is?" Jones asked nervously.

"Those sausages came form Alfred's hot-dog stall?" she frowned, "I hope none of his customers ate them!"

"So, what was it?" Abbie prompted.

"The green liquid spilt on them is in fact a very concentrated detergent!" she answered.

"Dammit!" Jones cursed, "so you were right, Abbie. Maybe Daisy didn't get sick before she ate Alfred's hot-dog in the end . . ."

"But remember, Nathan said she had ingested the poison 12 hours ago," Abbie reminded, "that wrapper was still warm."

"Abbie! Jones!" Ramirez panted rushing into the room, "Ashely Collins is still locked in the interrogation room! I forgot the key at home, I need you to come!"

"How do these things keep happening to you, Ramirez?" Abbie chuckled shaking her head.

"Okay, Abbie, let's go release Miss Collins!" Jones laughed leading the way while pulling his keys out.

They unlocked the door and found the assistant sitting at the table with her feet propped up and admiring her nails in the light. She turned her head when she heard the door unlock and open.

"Miss Collins, we are sorry to have kept you so long," Abbie apologized.

"You better be!" Ashely growled, "fortunately, I always have my nail hardener on me; it kept me busy while I was locked here!"

"You  _always_  have your nail hardener on you?!" Jones gasped.

She smirked, "you always need to be perfect down to your fingertips when you're at Gabriel's side!"

"And yet," he smirked back, "you have a stain on your jacket . . ."

"Thanks to you!" she spat, "I was cleaning when your men came to fetch me, and they made me spill detergent on my jacket!"

They watched her storm out of the room steaming mad and waited a minute before leaving themselves.

"Ashely's getting more and more suspicious by the minute!" Jones mused, "what's to say she didn't poison her lover's wife!?"

Abbie opened her mouth to respond, but Ramirez cut her off with an exclamation.

"Guys, it would seem that the victim's husband, hit the jackpot with the poisoning of his wife," Ramirez told them, "he will receive $1,000,000 from her insurance contract!"

"I knew he was suspicious unconcerned by Daisy's death!" Jones exclaimed, "Abbie, let's have another look at their kitchen, before he has time to make anything disappear!"

"We still need to have lunch!" she reminded hurrying to keep up with his longer strides.

"My stomachs empty," he admitted, "let's return to Chez Valentine. Maybe we'll get a free lunch this time!"

She rolled her eyes, "don't hold your breath."

They headed over to the victim's condo and ducked under the yellow tape stuck across the door frame like an 'X.' Gabriel was gone from the condo so they had some privacy to look around. Abbie check the counter top around where Daisy's body had laid before Nathan took the body. She picked up a small glass bottle and read the label on it, Nail Hardener.

"Nail hardener," she told Jones.

"This matches our killer's profile," he recalled, "we need to know who touched this bottle last! Let's get some fingerprints."

She nodded and grabbed her fiberglass brush. She dusted the handle of the nail brush and turned it to the light to make out the fingerprints on it. She used strips of tape to lift them off and transferred them to a fingerprint sheet.

"Let's get this to the lab," she ordered bagging the items.

They sent the fingerprints over to Alex's lab on their way to Chez Valentine. The lunch crowd had mostly dispersed so it wasn't hard to get inside the kitchen this time and Valentine was no where to ne seen. The chefs moved out of their way and Abbie took a peak under the order window. The spine of a yearbook was sticking out from the counter and she pulled it out to see that someone had ripped a page from it.

"This is the yearbook of Valentine Montgomery's promotion," Abbie read the front cover, "there's a page torn out."

"We should restore it," Jones says.

"And take a look at this," she wrinkled her nose as she picked up a muffin covered in pink goo.

"I don't think that's icing on that muffin," he smirked, "let's take a sample."

She lifted a few drops from the muffin while Jones pulled the pieces out of the yearbook. She dropped the pink goo on a microscope slide and carefully bagged the glass. Then she turned to the shredded paper and using her tape, pieced it back together until the original format was repaired.

"That's a surprise!" Jones blinked looking over the names listed, "Tobias Sharp was in the same promotion as Valentine Montgomery."

"I wonder why he didn't open his own restaurant . . ." Abbie mused.

"What do you say we go ask him?" he suggested.

"You drive," she responded.

They headed back to the station while Abbie called Tobias back in on the way. When they arrived, Jones brought the food critic into the interrogation room while Abbie ran the pink goo sample from the muffin to Grace, then hurried back to join the interrogation.

"So, Tobias," Abbie started by placing the yearbook in front of him, "you and Valentine seem to go back."

"Yes, me and Valentine went to cooking school together," he confirmed, "I had more talent then her, but she had the money. That's why I wrote an inflammatory review about her place, so she gets what she deserves. The woman has absolutely no talent!"

"I see," she nodded, "that's all we needed to know, thank you for your time."

He pushed his chair back and they showed him to the elevator. Once the metal doors had slide closed, Jones snorted out a laugh.

"For someone who hates Valentine Montgomery's cooking that much," he chuckled, "he seems to go there often! Remember, he was there yesterday!"

"And he may not have succeeded in opening a restaurant, but he still went to cooking school," Abbie pointed out.

"So, he must be a good cook!" he deduced.

Just as he announced that, Alex strolled into the room.

"I analyzed the fingerprints you sent me," he says to them, "and they belong to the victim's husband, Gabriel Thompson."

"That's weird . . ." Jones remarked, "let's go see what he has to say."

Alex tossed Abbie the no longer needed bottle of nail hardener and she caught it easily. Her and Jones hopped in their squad car and drove back over to the victim's condo. This time, when they knocked on the door, Gabriel answered it in seconds. Jones took the bottle of nail hardener from Abbie's shoulder bag and held it out to him.

"I think this is yours?" Jones bit his lip to prevent a laugh from escaping.

"Are you actually making fun of me for using nail hardener, officers?" he asked broadly.

"No, sir," Abbie assured before Jones could put his foot in his mouth.

"This isn't the middle ages, you know," he smirked, "yes I wear nail hardener, I even dye my hair to cover the gray hair and I cook. Satisfied?"

"More then you know," she smiled.

"Now if you'll excuse me," he brushed passed them and locked the condo door, "I'm taking my lovely assistant out to dinner."

The detectives watched Gabriel descend the stairwell until her walked out of their sight. The two shared a look of disbelief at his last comment.

"This man is a jerk!" Jones cried, "his wife just passed away and he's not even trying to hide his affair with Ashely Collins!"

"But, he did say he cooked and wears nail hardener," Abbie pointed out.

"Your right, Doc! He's the perfect suspect!" he beamed.

She rolled her eyes good maturely, "that wasn't what I meant . . ."

"I-" his phone beeped cutting off his sentence. He picked it up and put it on speaker phone, "Jones and Abbie."

"It's Grace, the pink substance you found on that muffin at Chez Valentine is actually nail hardener," she explained not missing a beat.

"Nail hardener on a muffin?!" Jones gagged, "maybe Tobias wasn't wrong about Chez Valentine's hygiene . . . but we still have to confirm it's hers."

"Let's go ask her," Abbie said, "thanks, Grace."

Jones hung up his phone and fallowed his partner down the stairs to the front entrance. They got in their car drove over to the now empty restaurant that was getting ready for the dinner crowd. They entered the kitchen and waved Valentine over from where she stood barking orders at her cooks.

"Mrs. Montgomery, we found a muffin with nail hardener in your kitchen," Jones held up the bag with the soggy sweet, "you should perhaps watch your employees more carefully. Hygienically speaking, that's on the borderline."

Valentine looked embarrassed, "actually, its mine . . . my nails are weakened because of the cooking and keep splitting in two. I have no choice but using nail hardener."

"We still suggest that you be more careful when you apply it," Abbie advised the chef, "we may not be the health inspector, but we can report concerns to them."

"I am doing my best to satisfy my customers but Sharp puts me under pressure," she defended, "I keep making mistakes that could cost me my restaurant!"

She threw a beget at them to get them out of her kitchen. Jones caught it and sprinted out of the restaurant after Abbie who was already in the car ready to drive off. Jones broke the long bread in half and put Abbie's piece on the center console.

"Abbie, I have to admit this case is baffling me!" he grumbled biting of a piece of bread, "on the other hand, we have Daisy's husband, who was cheating on her with his assistant . . ."

"And on the other hand, we've got a catfight between a food critic and a chef," Abbie finished.

"But I can't link the two together!" he complained.

"What about Alfred? We never really did get a good look at his stall," she says turning the wheel.

"I think you're right. I've probably been to lenient with Alfred," he sighed, "let's return to his stall. It's on the way between Chez Valentine and the Thompson's. no doubt we'll find the missing piece to what happened to Daisy!"

They reached main street and Abbie parked the car next to the curb and ripped a chunk off her beget before climbing out and crossing the road. Jones talked to Alfred while she looked around his stall again where the customers waited. She founded a brown paper bag on the counter ledge and turned it around. She saw that the Chez Valentine logo was stamped on the front and a quick peak inside showed the bag contained left over food. She grabbed it and brought it over to Jones.

"Doggy bag," she told him.

"Oh Jones, I'm so sorry," Alfred apologized, "I totally forgot that Daisy left her doggy bag here!"

"Never mind Alfred, everybody can make mistakes," he reassured the man, "Doc, we've been struggling for so long and this is finally the missing piece we were waiting for! Let's send it to the lab immediately!"

_One doggy bag analyses later . . ._

"Please say that you found something, Grace?" Abbie begged her friend.

"I analyzed the contents of the doggy bag Daisy left at Alfred's hot-dog stall," she said, "the food contains the same poison as the one Nathan has found in Daisy's stomach. But that's not the only interesting thing I've discovered. I also found three black hairs in the food. These obviously do not belong to the ginger-haired victim."

"Thank you, Grace," Jones beamed, "so we can conclude with out any risk of mistake that our killer has black hair!"

"Wait!" she laughed, "I'm not done yet!"

"There's more?!" he gaped.

Grace nodded, "I extracted some DNA from the hair and I've been able to isolate the eye colour characteristics of the killer; your killer has blue eyes."

"Awesome!" Abbie grinned.

"I didn't think that doggy bag would be so chatty!" Jones admitted, "arresting the killer should be a piece of cake now, Abbie, shouldn't it?"

"Indeed," she nodded.

They left the station and drove over to the posh restaurant where Daisy's deadly meal had been served to her on a sliver plater. They parked in front of the main entrance and weaved their way through the supper rush of people to the kitchen doors. They passed Tobias Sharp on the way and the food critic raised an eyebrow at the detectives' determined expressions. Jones pushed opened the swinging kitchen doors and Abbie pulled out her handcuffs.

"Valentine Montgomery, you are under arrest for the poisoning of Daisy Thompson!" the Turk declared walking up to the head chef.

"I did not intend to poison this woman, I don't even know her!" Valentine insisted, "there must be a mistake!"

"Who did you intend to poison, then, Mrs. Montgomery?" Jones inquired, "who was Daisy's plate for?"

"Jones . . . do you remember who she's feuding with?" Abbie asked, "who the seafood platter was intended for?"

"Wait! . . . Doc, you're right, of course!" he cried, "you aimed to poison Tobias Sharp, didn't you, Mrs. Montgomery?!"

"Yes, I did!" Valentine spat, "Tobias Sharp has been ruining my life for too long! He deserved to have a taste of his own medicine! I only wish that stupid waiter hadn't mixed the orders up!"

"We've heard enough," Abbie glared snapping the cuffs on. She read the chef her rights in front of her staff then they escorted her out of the restaurant, making sure to pass Tobias's table on the way to the door.

_In Olivia Hall's Courtroom . . ._

"Valentine Montgomery," Judge Hall addressed the convict, "for the murder of Daisy Thomson, this Court-"

"But I never meant to kill that woman!" Valentine defended herself shooting to a stance, "the stupid waiter didn't get the plate to the right table!"

"Just because you did not kill the intended person does not mean you cannot be held responsible for her death, Mrs. Montgomery!" she glared down at the woman silently commanding her to sit, "this Court therefor condemns you to 10 years in prison for poisoning, with no chance for parole."

Hall dismissed the Courtroom and Valentine was lead out to be taken to the prison. Jones and Abbie headed out and got in their car. He drove over to the Historical Center to drop Abbie off at her place for some well-deserved rest.

"Another case under our belts!" Jones cheered, "sorry for not inviting you out to dinner to celebrate, but who knows what might end up on our plates!"

Abbie groaned, "right now, I just want to curl up in my bed and sleep!"

"You said it!" he laughed.

She watched the houses pass by, "drop me off here."

"Here?" he asked stopping the car in front of the forest, "isn't the farmhouse another few blocks away?"

"Yes," she confirmed getting out, "but Nathan took Hunter home with him, I have to pick her up and I wanted to see how Avi's doing."

"Right, let me know if I can help!" he yelled after her.

"I will!" she promised.

He drove off as she walked down the street to Nathan's house. She reached the townhouse and knocked on the front door. A dog barked from inside and a few seconds later, the door opened and Nathan stood on the other side. Avi's poked his head out from behind his mother's legs and grinned when he saw who it was.

"Auntie Abbie!" he squealed throwing his arms around her.

"Hey there Avi," she chuckled hugging back, "you got better really fast."

He nodded, "yup! Me an Hunt we're playing hide and seek!"

"And I bet she found you every time," she smiled kissing his forehead, "can you go get her for me, please?"

Avi nodded and ran back into the house and up the stairs. Nathan invited her inside to get out of the cold November air.

"He really did get better fast," she remarked.

"Well, his name does mean miracle," Nathan replied, "but I do have a better explanation to his recovery."

"Oh?" she asked.

He nodded, "blood."

"Blood?" she repeated.

"Hāṁ, Chief sent me home shortly after you left. Avi slept for a while with Hunter, and when he woke up, he was perfectly healthy," he explained.

"But how did blood help?" she questioned.

"You remember when you found out I was immune to all forms of disease?" she nodded, "well some of my evolved immune system passed on to him."

"So, your saying, that he has an evolved immune system too?" she asked.

"Hāṁ. It isn't as evolved as mine because it took him about four hours to get better, but depending on the severity of the disease, he can be healed in under a day."

"So, did he-"

"Arf!" Hunter barked running up and placing her front paws on Abbie's thigh.

"Hey girl," she fluffed the dog's fur, "did you take good care of Avi?"

 _"Woof!"_  she wagged her tail.

"I knew you would, now we need to go have our own supper. Say bye to Avi and Nathan," she says waving goodbye to the two.

"Bye-bye!" Avi waved.

Abbie and Hunter walked back home, while Nathan and his son went back inside their house.

_The next day, in Chief King's office . . ._

"It seems you're not quite done with Chez Valentine, Abbie," King informed her placing a complaint form on his desk, "Mr. Sharp is causing trouble over there. Why don't you go check what it's about? You might also want to check up on Daisy's husband. He may need your help."

"We're on it, Alab!" she answered.

"Hay, Doc" Jones says sipping his coffee, "Alfred's hot-dog stall is on the road to the Thompson's condo; can we stop there?"

"Of course, but I'm not buying you lunch," she teased leading him out.

They went to go see what the problem with Tobias was first before the situation could get worse. They entered the posh restaurant and found the food critic arguing with the manager by the bar. Jones stepped in between the two and hulled Tobias away and over to Abbie and Hunter.

"Hello again, Mr. sharp," Abbie greeted, "we've been called for a disturbance. What has happened?"

"Finally! I do have a problem, and I expect you to make this restaurant pay for this slander!" Tobias growled steaming mad, "they should be ashamed of selling corked wine to a famous food critic like me!"

"Alright Mr. Famous Food Critic," Jones rolled his eyes, "what did you drink?"

"I hoped to drink a bottle of Château La Toure 1990. Except it was retched," he complained, "doesn't the law say that a client may refuse pay if they're not satisfied with the product?"

"It does Mr. Sharp, it does . . ." he responded, "but don't worry, Abbie works miracles! We'll know the truth very soon, trust me!"

They left Tobias to cool down in a booth and went to check out the kitchen. Abbie looked around the counter where the waiters set the servings trays down and found a metal bucket with a green wine bottle inside. She picked it up and found it was light, she saw no liquid swishing around inside, nut there was a dirty napkin was wrapped around the bottle's neck.

"The bottle is empty," she reported showing her partner.

Jones cocked an eyebrow, "how is it possible if Tobias refused to drink it? And how will we get a sample now?"

"The napkin is soaked with the wine," Abbie told him carefully pealing it off.

"Of course, that's it!" he grinned, "let's get a sample off this napkin."

Abbie set the napkin on the counter and pulled out her dropper and microscope slide. She retrieved a sample from the most saturated spot on the napkin, and transferred the fluid to the glass. She bagged the evidences and handed it to jones.

"This is a very nice sample you collected, Abbie," he praised eyeing it, "I'm sure Grace will appreciate analyzing it."

"After the vomit we sent her, I think she'd take almost anything," says leading the way to the car.

They made a detour in order to drop the wine sample off at the station for their forensic scientist. They drove out to main street to check in with Alfred and see how the hot-dog vendor was doing. When they got their, they had to wait a while for the last of the lunch crowd to leave before they could talk to him.

"Hi Alfred!" Jones called to the man, "two waffles please!"

"I'm terribly sorry, but I've lost my waffle maker," he apologized sadly, "the neighbourhood kids are always playing tricks on me, the little rascals . . . but they don't mean any harm, I'm sure!"

"I sure hope so," Abbie sighed.

"Or they'll get a good talking to from us!" Jones swore, "in the meantime . . . Abbie, where do you think they might have hid this waffle maker?"

"In plain sight . . ." she replied looking around.

She walked down the edge of the side walk and found a fresh pile of wet leave stacked perfectly on the curb. She poked at it and saw that the leaves had been taken form different species of trees form around town. Since most of the trees had already lost their leaves for the season, someone would have had to gone to great lengths to make a leaf pile this big.

"You really think the waffle make could be hidden in that pile of leaves?" Jones asked skeptically, "that's not a very safe hiding place . . ."

"Safe or not, it's still a hiding place to check," Abbie stated pushing aside the leaves. She dug through the wet greens and felt her hand hit something made of cold metal. She pulled out what she hit and saw that it was a broken waffle maker.

"Well I'll be . . ." Jones chuckled, "they really did hide Alfred's waffle maker in a pile of leaves! How did you guess?"

"I'm just that good," Abbie smirked, "unfortunately it's completely broken."

"Alfred can't make waffles with that!" he agreed, "Abbie, can you do something?"

"I think so," she replied, "the wires aren't broken so a little heat resistant glue should do the trick."

She found the small bottle of glue and used the whole thing to repair the waffle maker. She made a mental note to pick up some more as she tossed the bottle away and picked up the kitchen appliance.

"Wow, the waffle maker looks brand new," Jones remarked, "you're prodigious, Abbie!"

"Let's bring it back to Alfred," Abbie says coiling the cord.

He hummed and rubbed his stomach, "I can't wait to have this waffle!"

They walked back over to the hot-dog stall and Abbie placed the waffle maker back in its places and plugged it in.

"Alfred, goods news!" Jones proclaimed, "Abbie has found your waffle maker an fixed it!"

"Don't let it be said that I'm ungrateful," Alfred chuckled pulling out the waffle batter, "now, how would you like your waffles?"

Both of the detectives ordered a chocolate chip waffle to-go. The chef plopped the batter onto the machine and it sizzled when it hit the heat. They were fully cooked after a couple minutes and Alfred bagged them up for each of them, throwing in a free small bag of dog food for Hunter. The blind man truly did think of everyone.

They eat their food inside their car and once they were finished, Jones drove the car over to the Thompson's condo. They walked up the stairs to the correct floor and knocked on the door. Gabriel answered it quickly, casting a glance over his shoulder.

"Hello, Mr. Thompson. Is everything ok?" Abbie asked.

"Be sure to let us know if you need anything!" Jones added.

"Actually, I do need help. I can't find the key to my safe. I remember intrusting it t my wife, but . . ." Gabriel sighed tightening his neck-tie, "my wife's engagement ring is inside it, and I want her to have it in her coffin, before she is laid to rest."

"I see," he smiled, "do not trouble yourself, Mr. Thompson. I'm sure Detective Abbie will find your key in no time! Let's first have a look around your kitchen."

Gabriel steeped aside to let them in. Abbie went into the kitchen to have a look around. The crime scene had been cleaned up since the last time them had been to visit it. She saw nothing on the counter or inside the wine rack. She walked behind the island and almost hit her hip on a drawer that had been left open. She pulled it out the rest of the way to get a better look.

"Doc, only you would think of looking in a kitchen drawer for the key to a safe!" Jones snorted seeing her digging around. She pulled out a small sliver key, "and of course the safe key was in the drawer. You know, one day you'll have to teach me how you do it."

"Become psychic and then come talk to me," Abbie smirked as they walked over to Gabriel, "Mr. Thompson, we've found your safe key."

"Perfect!" Gabriel grinned taking it, "however, I've just realized the safe also needs a code . . . which only Daisy knew. I can never seem to remember any code myself."

"I see where this is going," Jones raised an eyebrow, "where is this safe?"

"Oh, it's right here, in the kitchen," he waved his hand over the space, "can't you see it?"

They could. The safe was built into the wall next to the balcony. Jones and Abbie walked over and inserted the key into the key-hole. With a twist of the hand the safe key pad light up and asked for an access code. Abbie took the lead and punched in the correct code and the door clicked open. She sung it open and Jones picked up the ring from the center of the safe.

"Open sesame! And here's the ring!" Jones says holding it up to admire, "it's a really nice one; very expensive, by the look of it!"

"Mr. Thompson, I managed to pen your safe," Abbie told the widower, "and here's your wife's ring."

"Excellent! May I see it?" Gabriel asked. Jones gee him the diamond ring and he looked it over, "yes, this is indeed the one! Thank you, Detective!"

The front door opened and Ashely Collins strolled inside, "hello stud muffin, did you find the ring? I can't wait to wea- oh, hello there."

"Ashely! How nice of you to come . . . pay your respects," Gabriel gulped as sweat beaded his forehead, "I was just thanking these officers for finding my dear wife's ring. Officers, would you care for something to eat before you go?"

"Why not, "stud muffin" . . ." Jones says.

After having a quick and awkward meal with Gabriel and Ashely, Jones, Abbie and Hunter hurried out of the condo and down the stairs. They headed over to the station to check in with Grace with the wine sample. They entered the forensics lab where she was waiting for them.

"I've analyzed your sample. This is really good wine," Grace informed them, "what do you want to know exactly?"

"Is the wine corked?" Jones inquired.

"Not at all!" she smiled, "the rate of chlorine is definitely normal. This wine has been kept in excellent condition!"

"Would you look at that," Abbie smirked, "so someone does know how to make wine after all."

"And someone knows how to lie to cops," Jones grumbled, "let's go bust him, partner."

They thanked Grace for her work and drove back over to Chez Valentine where Tobias Sharp was still trying to argue with the manager. Jones and Abbie pulled him away and off to a secluded corner of the restaurant.

"Mr. Sharp, we analyzed your wine," Jones informed him, "and I'm not surprised you in fact drank the entire bottle . . . this wine is perfectly good!"

"What are you saying? It's insane!" Tobias argued, "I refuse to pay for a bottle of corked wine!"

"Would you rather come with us to the police office?" Abbie asked, "there are some comfortable cells if you need one, but I'm afraid the food isn't great."

Tobias turned beat red and marched over to the cash to pay for his meal and bottle of wine.


	25. In the Dead of Night

"Don't you just love night shifts, Abbie?" Jones groaned from his face pressed into the crook of his arm, "waiting for the insomniac killers of the world to make a move . . ."

"Abbie!" Ramirez called over from his desk, "we've just got a call in, someone's reported a murder!"

"Do we have the details, Ramirez?" Abbie asked turning to face him.

"A young boy called, he says someone's been shot in the middle of Cooper Park," he told them, "he didn't give his name, though."

"We're on it!" Jones assured grabbing the keys, "come on, Doc, time for a midnight stroll."

"I'll call Nathan to met us there," Abbie says fallowing him out.

They drove over to Grimsborough's Cooper Park and left their car by the entrance. They sealed off the area while they waited for the ME van to arrive. Once Nathan had joined them, the group walked down the path to then fountain area. When the saw the body of the teen laying against the tree trunk with an arrow to his left eye, and his face with a look of shock on it, it was a heartbreaking sight to see.

"God, I . . . I knew that kid," Jones breathed, "his name's Freddy Stewart. He caused us some problems in the past, but nothing to deserve this."

Abbie picked up a crossbow that was in a bush near the body, "the arrow in this crossbow is identical to the one that killed Freddy."

"No doubt this is the murder weapon we're looking for," he deduced as Abbie began to examine it for clues, "we need to talk to the kid that called us . . ."

Nathan pointed in the direction of the other exit, "there's a kid over there."

Jones looked over and saw the young boy, "I'll never figure out how you do that . . . but that must be him over there. Let's go talk to him."

"Hold on a second," Abbie says finding a small sample of dry ivory liquid on the trigger, "we should send this sample to Grace, if there's something to make out of it, she'll find it."

She left the sample with Nathan's bag and joined Jones to talk with the kid. They walked down the path and the kid jumped when Jones called out at him. Hunter hurried up to the boy and sat in front of him and barked.

"Don't worry, she's friendly," Abbie assured with a smiled, "I'm Detective Abbie and this is Jones and Hunter. Who are you?"

"Julian Ramis," the kid answered.

"Hi Julian. Are you the boy who reported Freddy's murder?" Jones asked gently.

"Yes, it's me. I was walking down the park, and I heard people arguing," Julian explained glancing at the tree, "then it stopped, and I heard someone running away. I went to see what happened, and . . . that's when I found Freddy. I couldn't even look at him . . ."

"I'm sorry you had to see that," Abbie whispered, "did you know Freddy?"

"Freddy . . . Freddy was my friend, we used to hang out at the abandoned treehouse together . . ." he sniffled and began to cry, "God, what am I gonna tell his sister? Ramona and Freddy were so close . . . she's my friend, I should tell her myself!"

"Don't worry, Julian, we're going to tell her ourselves," Jones tried to calm the child, "and we should also take a look at that treehouse, Abbie. We may find something there . . ."

"Of course," Abbie agreed, "Julian? I'm going to call a friend of mine to come and bring you to the station. He'll help you get a hold of someone for you there."

"Thank you," Julian sniffed.

They waited for Ramirez to arrive at the park and take Julian with him and Nathan. Then the detectives drove over to the Steward house to speak with Freddy's sister. The home was in darkness when they arrive but Jones rang the doorbell regardless. A light from the upper floor came on fallowed momentarily by some lights on the lower floor. A young woman in a pair of pajamas answered the door with a cigarette in her fingers.

"Ramona Steward?" Jones asked.

"Detective Jones," she sighed, "what has Freddy done now?"

"Nothing," he shook his head, "I'm sorry to say that we found your brother murdered this evening."

Ramona gasped, "I can't believe my brother's dead . . . I just can't. I mean what the . . ."

"I'm sorry, Miss Steward. I really am," he said mournful, "do you have any idea of someone who could want to hurt Freddy?"

"No! why would anyone hurt Freddy?" she asked shocked, "he was . . . kind, and sweet. We were like two pees in a pod . . . what am I going to tell our parents? Look . . . I've got something to ask you, it may seem strange, but . . . do you know who found his body?"

"A young boy, named Julian Ramis," Abbie respond, "he told us he was a friend of yours."

"Julian? Oh God, why did he have to see that?" Ramona cried, "he's just a kid . . .  _God_ , I can't believe this is happening!"

"We are so sorry for your loss," Abbie whispered, "we will leave you alone now."

"Thank you, officers," she hiccupped closing the door.

Jones and Abbie made their way down the path and got back into their squad car. They drove over to the abandoned treehouse and talked along the way.

"Poor girl, losing her brother so young, I can't imagine . . ." Jones muttered, "I don't think we'll get much out of her right now. Frustrating, but understandable."

"Hopefully she'll be able to help us later," Abbie prayed as he parked the car.

They walked to the backyard and looked around the space. The grass was overgrown by the fence with weeds popping up all around. The treehouse was in good condition despite not being maintained for sometime. A backpack had been dropped into the small box garden and Abbie plucked it out f the dirt.

"Julian told us that Freddy and him used to hang out here . . ." Jones recalled, "and this must be Freddy's backpack! See? it even has his name on it. Let's see if we can find something inside it."

Abbie unzipped the biggest pocket and took a look inside with Hunter. They found a couple comic books, a school notebook, some busted digital watches and a few baseballs. But what was really surprising to find in the teen's backpack was a pair of gold cufflinks near the bottom.

Abbie whistled, "this are solid gold!"

" _Wow_ , those cufflinks must be wort more than our annual salaries combined!" Jones commented, "so how the hell did such expensive jewellery end up in a dead teenager's backpack?"

"It can't be a coincidence," she mused, "jewels as expensive as these always have a hallmark on them, so their owners can be identified in case of theft."

"But it seems the one on those cufflinks has been scrapped off," he pointed out, "do you think you'll be able to figure the numbers out?"

"I wouldn't be psychic if I couldn't," she smiled getting to work.

"Are you really psychic?" he asked.

"No, I'm just pulling your leg" she replied writing the first numbers down on a tag.

"Well, I wasn't sure, you made a comment on the last case, but I thought it was a joke," he admitted sheepishly.

"Good to know I can fool you," she chuckled witting down the last of the serial number, "the serial number on these cuff links will help us find their original owner."

"Let's give it to Alex, he'll find out who it is in no time!"

They hurried over to the station to give the cufflink serial numbers to Alex for tracking. Once their resident geek had them, they walked across the hall to check in with Grace about the molecules they sent her.

"So, what was it we found on the crossbow, Grace?" Abbie asked.

"You found this molecules on a crossbow?" she quirked an eyebrow, "that's a strange place to find perfume, epically Eua Delá!"

"Are you kidding me? Eau Delá?" Jones gapped, "a single drop of this perfume is enough to pay back my mortgage!"

"And if it was on the crossbow, then it means our killer wears Eau Delá," Abbie deduced, "at least they smell nice."

"They won't after spending a day behind bars," he smirked.

They thanked Grace for the results and headed down to the basement to talk to Nathan. The coroner was packing away the body until the Stewart parents could come and sign for Freddy's relish. He directed them over to an x-ray of the head that was up on the screen.

"As you can see, the arrow entered through the victim's left eye and pierced through his skull," Nathan explained pointing to the arrow's shaft, "it's a clean shot!"

"I  _knew_  that new trend of bows and arrows in the media would end in tragedy!" Jones scoffed.

"I managed to find nicotine on the base of the arrow, while there were no traces of it on the victim," he continued picking up the spare arrow, "which means the person you're looking for is a smoker!"

"Now we know why they wear such potent perfume," he snickered, "and don't point that arrow at me!"

Nathan smirked and twisted the tip around with his fingers, "Jones, the only way I could hurt you by throwing this, is if I laced it with, poison, electricity, or . . . something else."

"Eep!" Jones squeaked running out of the room.

"That was mean," Abbie scolded.

He laughed, "but it was funny."

"A little," she giggled.

She said goodbye and her and Hunter ran out of the morgue and up the stairs to catch up with her partner. They found him making his way to the tech lab and they entered together to see Alex.

"So, what did you learn out about those cufflinks?" Jones asked the younger man.

"Well, I can tell you there's no way those cufflinks found their way in Freddy's bag by accident," he replied.

"We figured that much," he snorted.

"I ran the hallmark into the database, and I found their rightful owner," Alex pulled up a photo onto his computer monitor, "ladies, and gentleman, I give you Alden Greene!"

"Greene  _again?!"_  he exclaimed, "is there anything in this district that can't be traced back to him?"

"He didn't report any kind of robbery, however," he informed, "so, you'll have to talk to him if you want more info."

"Great," Abbie rolled her eyes, "just the person I want to talk to at the middle of the night . . ."

They left the station taking the cufflinks with them and drove by Greene Holdings to see if the CEO was still in. They saw the lights on in the lobby and a few on at the upper floors, right where Greene's office was located. The night guard let them in and paged Alden to notify him of their arrival. The chain smoker greeted them at the elevator looking bright eyed and not the least bit tired.

"Detective Abbie," Greene shook her hand, "I can't say I expected to see you so soon after my grandson's dreadful affair. What can I do for you?"

"We've found a pair of cufflinks that belong to you, Mr. Greene," Abbie responder holding out the gold jewelry, "I believe they were stolen recently?"

"As a matter of fact, they were!" he grinned accepting them, "where did you find them?"

"On a dead teenager named Freddy Stewart," Jones told him bluntly, "he was murdered a couple hours ago. It's hard to believe it's all just a coincidence."

"Are you causing me of something, officers?" Greene asked coldly, "do you really think I would kill a child over a pair of cufflinks?"

"We'll see, sir," he replied, "we're exploring every lead we have."

They bid him a good night and left the building. They climbed into their squad car and Hunter sat on Abbie's lap as Jones started the engine.

"Greene can say what he wants, Abbs, I'm sure he's the kind of man who doesn't like anyone o ridicule him," Jones growled annoyed, "who knows how he could've acted if he wanted this problem gone . . ."

"The possibilities are endless," she agreed zoning out.

"Abbie? We're here," Jones says turning off the ignition.

"It was an accident," Abbie breathed holding her head in her hands.

"What?" he asked confused.

"Freddy's killer didn't mean to kill him, the crossbow fired by accident, they didn't mean to kill him," she clarified.

"This is going to be a hard arrest . . ." he mutters rubbing a hand down his face, "okay, Abbs, let's regroup! We've got a kid shot dead in the middle of Cooper Park . . . he stole a pair of cufflinks, and I think he may have kept other items from previous robberies at his house. We should investigate there."

"And let's not forget those cufflinks belong to Greene," she chimed in, "we should talk to his Head of Security, I'm pretty sure his name is Noah Richards, if I remember correctly. He must have seen something."

"And I heard the father of the boy who found Freddy's body wanted to talk to us," he added, "his name is Edward Ramis. Let's see what he has to say."

"I'll call Noah in on the way up," she says pulling her phone out.

They found that Julian's father was waiting for them in their office. He was sitting on one of the couches in their break area with a paper coffee cup in his hand. The man stood up when he saw them enter.

"Officers, I'm really grateful for the way you handled things with my son. He's been quite shaken up by this affair, Freddy was a good friend of his . . ." Edward thanked them, "however, I must ask if you could refrain from interrogating him any further for the time being. He's still a child, and he needs to rest."

"He's one of our best leads, sir," Abbie explained apologetically, "we're sorry for having stressed Julian out, and we don't like it, but if we have anymore questions, we'll have to ask him."

"I'm just asking you to spare him, that's all," he replied, "Julian looked up to Freddy, he idolized him, even in his more questionable habits."

"Such as?" she asked.

He shook his head refusing to answer, "if you need me, I'll be smoking outside. This whole affair is wearing me down."

They let Edward walk out of the office with his packet of cigarettes in on hand and a lighter in the other.

"Did you see how stressed out Edward was?" Jones asked watching the numbers on the elevator go down, "I don't know if he was trying to protect his son, or himself . . . if he thought his son was taking a bad turn because of Freddy, he may have tried to stop him . . ."

"I think we should take another look at the park, Jones," Abbie mused, "we focused so much on the body that we might have missed a clue."

"Great idea!" he agreed as the elevator opened.

A tall man in a black suite with a small earpiece in his right ear exited the lift. He stopped just short of them and stood in a stiff, professional manor.

"You requested to see me, Detective," he says nodding to Abbie.

"Noah Richards, I presume?" Abbie inquired to him, he nodded, "you're Alden Greene's Head of security. Surely, you must know about the robbery?"

"Of course, I do," he grunted, "I was outside smoking a cigarette when I these two kids, getting out of Mr. Greene's house through the window. I started running after them, but they had a leg up on me. I lost them when they entered the park."

"Tow kids?" Jones questioned surprised, "did you get a good look at them? Could you identify them?"

"I recognized one of the kids, Freddy Steward," Noah answered, "I saw him around the neighbourhood several times. But I couldn't get a good look at the second one."

"Thank you, Mr. Richards," Abbie said to the man, "your information we very helpful."

Noah nodded and strode off. They added him and Edward Ramis to the suspect line up along with the fact that they both smoked. Then the detectives got in their squad car and drove back over to their crime scene. The area hadn't had anyone inside since they left so they check around the tree trunk where Freddy's body had been for clues they could have missed. Abbie looked along the path behind the oak tree and found a burn cigarette butt crumpled into the pavement.

"Would you look at this," Abbie remarked picking it up with gloved hands.

"I didn't even notice that cigarette butt!" Jones commented, "you really have an eye for detail, Abbie!"

"The crime scene has been closed since we found the body," she says examining it, "and we know that Freddy's killer is a smoker . . ."

"Which means this cigarette butt must belong to him!" he finished, "can you find anything useful on it?"

"There's some saliva on the end of it, Grace might be able to analyze the DNA in it," she replied bagging the items.

"And that we'll be able to find something at the victim's house that could tell us more about his personal life," he added as they walked back to their car.

They dropped the sample off with Grace on the way to the victim's house. Ramona was still awake when they arrived so they knocked on the door. The young woman had a cigarette in-between her fingers and judging by the smell in the room, it wasn't her first.

"Ramona, would you allow us to have a look around you house?" Abbie asked, "we would like to see if we can learn more about Freddy."

"O-of course," she says letting them in, "he spent most of his time in the living room, if that's any help."

"It is," she smiled, "thank you."

They entered the living room while Ramona went into the kitchen for another cigarette. Abbie checked the bookcases and TV stand but couldn't even find a photo album. There was nothing but dust-bunnies inside of the couch cousins so she looked under the coffee table. A gray shoe box was underneath it and she slide it out in order to get a better look at it.

"This box is too well hidden . . ." Jones mused, "excuse me, Miss Stewart? What's inside that box?"

"Oh, it's nothing, just . . . just girl stuff," Ramona answered nervously, "can you please give it back? I never really intended for anyone to look through it."

"I'm sorry," Abbie apologized removing the lid, "but we have to explore every possible lead."

"I'm sure you understand," Jones says eyeing the blonde woman suspiciously.

Abbie looked trough the pink box filled with make-up, photos of famous singers and actors, a few ripped out pages form a diary, and a pair of gold earrings. She stopped when she found the items and frowned, the earrings were sold gold in the shape of phoenixes with rubies imbedded in the metal. She pulled them out and showed them to her partner.

"After the cufflinks, the gold earrings!" Jones grinned making sure Ramona couldn't see what they had found, "no wonder Ramona didn't want us to take a look at her box! They must come form one of Freddy's robberies."

"Let's look into our database," she suggested, "see if they match one of the items stolen in the neighborhood."

Abbie set the earrings on the coffee table and pull out her laptop to place it beside them. She took a picture of the earrings and uploaded it to the database to compare them with any that had been reported stolen recently. She found that the gold jewelry had been reported stolen from a rich woman over two months ago, and that her house was only a few blocks from their victim's home.

"They were stolen," Abbie says bagging the earrings, "these were stolen over two months ago."

"No wonder Ramona didn't want us to look at her box!" Jones huffed, "let's have another chat with her, Abbs!"

They called the young woman back in to the living room and presented her with the stolen earrings report and the jewelry themselves.

"We've found stolen jewelry in your personal belongs, Ramona" Abbie told her, "you can stop your little game now."

"What game?" Ramona asked looking anywhere but at the detectives, "I told you, I know nothing, Freddy must have hid them there . . ."

"Your brother is dead, Ramona, so quit it!" Jones ordered, "did you participate in your brother's robberies?"

"Okay, okay, fine!" she wailed, "but we only stole from rich families! Most of the time, they didn't even realize anything was missing! But I thought going after Greene was to dangerous, so I backed off. And Freddy went to ask Julian."

"Julian Ramis?" he blinked, "you mean he participated in your robberies?! We have to talk to him again!"

"P-please," Ramona pleaded, "he's just a kid."

"I think he is more mature then people realize," Abbie said grabbing her things.

Jones and Abbie left the victim's home and drove over a few streets to Julian's house. His babysitter answered the door and told themthat the boy was upstairs in his room. He hadn't been able to sleep since Ramirez brought him home. The babysitter led them up the stairs and down the short hallway to the bedroom then gave them some privacy.

"Julian?" Abbie called as she knocked on the door," it's Detectives Abbie and Jones, may we talk to you?"

A thump was heard from behind the door as the boy crossed his room to open the door. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy from crying and his clothes were rumpled from trying to sleep.

"Julian," Jones says kneeling to the kid's height, "Ramona told us you went with Freddy to rob Alden Greene's mansion. You have to tell us what happened."

"It's not true!" Julian cried, "I mean, yes, I robbed some houses with Ramona and Freddy, but the Greene mansion? I mean,  _come on!"_

"So, what did you do instead?" Abbie asked.

"I said no to Freddy, and then I went to the park," he looked around fearfully, "I . . . was smoking a cigarette, away from the house."

"Smoking?! At your age?!" Jones exclaimed, "never mind, what did you see next?"

"I saw Freddy run inside the park, and I think . . . I think someone from the Greene mansion fallowed him, but I'm not sure . . ." he sniffled as fresh tears escaped his eyes, "then I heard Freddy screaming, he was talking very loudly, and when I went to see him, he was already dead . . ."

"Easy, it's alright," Abbie assured the boy, "we'll find Freddy's killer. For you and for him."

Julian was still crying when they left the house and his babysitter tried fruitlessly to calm him down. The detectives returned to the stating to see what Grace could find with the burnt cigarette butt they sent her.

"The DNA from the saliva on that cigarette butt you found on the crime scene was badly damaged," Grace informed them, "but I managed to salvage some of it."

"Of course, you did," Abbie smirked.

"And lucky for us, it gave us a valuable clue!" she grinned, "I can affirm you that your killer has green eyes!"

"Well that cuts out Ramona and Greene," she says as Ramirez rushed into the lab.

"Abbie, Julian's father wants to se you!" he panted, "he's really agitated!"

"What? What's he still doing here?" Jones wondered, "come on, Abbs, let's go deal with him."

Ramirez informed them that he had placed the panicky man in the interrogation room with a glass of water before he came to get them. They found Edward sitting restlessly in his seat wringing his hands together with wide eyes darting around the room.

"Detective Abbie!" Edward gulped once she entered the room, "you have no need to integrate Julian! You have no need to interrogate anyone!"

"Calm down, Mr. Ramis, you're not making any sense," Abbie said in a soothing voice, "now start from the beginning, what is this about?"

"Yesterday evening, Julian wasn't coming home, so I went out looking for him. I found him in the park, smoking a cigarette. I was furious!" he shouted before taking a few deep breaths, "and then Freddy arrived, holding his crossbow . . . I started screaming at him, that I won't let him drag my son into his plans, then I grabbed the crossbow, and then . . ."

"And then what, Mr. Ramis?" she prompted.

He looked he dead in the eyes, "and then I shot him. I shot Freddy Stewart."

 _"What?!"_  Jones cried shocked, "Edward Ramis you are under arrest for the gruesome murder of Freddy Stewart!"

Jones snapped the cuffs onto the older man's wrist as he read him his rights. He led him to the booking station while Abbie and Hunter hung back and waited. The Muslim detective wasn't convinced by the father's confession that he had killed his son's friend in a fit of rage, the story had sounded to perfect, to rehearsed. She walked down the hallway to the chief's office where he no doubt had already gotten wind of the arrest. The man had eyes and ears all over the prescient.

"Congratulations Abbie!" King praised as she entered into his darkened office, "Edward Ramis is going to jail for the murder of Freddy Stewart. You both did a great job, and even faster then usual!"

"Alab, I'm not so sure he did it," Abbie admitted.

"What?" he blinked, "you not convinced that Edward Ramis is guilty, Abbie?"

"No, Alab," she shook her head, "and I want to keep investigating this."

"You want to keep investigating?" he repeated as Jones strolled into the office,  _"JONES!"_

"EEP!" Jones squeaked hiding behind his partner.

"What am I hearing, you putting people in prison without definitive proof, and without consulting your partner?!" King yelled furiously, "you better fix this, and quick!"

"Yes sir! Of course, sir! I'm on it, sir! He sweated, "we were just on our way to the Stewart's house to look for more evidence, sir! And we're going to talk to Noah Richard, the Head of Security at Greene's mansion, to see if he remembers anything more about the robbery, sir!"

"If you screw this up, Jones, I swear I'll put you on traffic duty for the next decade!" he vowed, "now get to work!"

"Yes, Chief!" they both saluted and ran out of the office.

Abbie tried to get in contact with Noah to have another interview with him, but all her calls went to voice mail. So, she left him a massage asking him to come to the station as soon as possible to speak with her. Meanwhile, they drove over to the Stewart hose again to have another look at the living room. Ramona had left the front door unlocked, but she didn't come into the room when they called her name.

While Jones looked around the bottom floor for the young woman, Abbie and Hunter checked the bookcase and shelves by the windows. There wasn't much for clues in the bookcase, only some short stories and framed pictures. But the K-9 dog barked when she found a drawer in the shelves sticking out a few inches with pictures peaking out from the opening. Abbie pulled it out the rest of the way and some of the picture fell to the floor.

"This drawer's just bursting with photographs," Abbie stated picking up the fallen ones.

"Maybe they could help us better understand the relationship between Edward Ramis and Freddy," Jones suggested, "their own families seem pretty close, after all."

"Well this one is of the two of them, and their both smiling . . ." she sighed looking at the happy photo, "seems like they were pretty close."

"I wonder what Ramona and Julian think of Edward turning himself in for Freddy's murder," he hummed, "let's talk to them."

"Mr. Ramis didn't kill my brother, you hear me? He didn't!" Ramon spat storming into the room, "work harder, do something, anything, but find out who really killed Freddy!"

"It's not because he and your brother were once friendly that they couldn't have had a violent disagreement last night," Jones told he honestly.

"No! Mr. Ramis is . . ." she cried, "he's a very nice man. He helped us countless times around the house, he invited us over when our parents were away . . . I think he knew about the robberies. The look on his face when he found my bottles of Eua Delà . . . he knew I hadn't bought them. But he never said anything . . . so no, you won't make me believe he killed my brother."

"I promise, we will find the person who killed your brother, whether or not it was Mr. Ramis," Abbie swore, "but we need to investigate every lead, even if we don't like it."

Ramona whipped her eyes and nodded. Jones and Abbie left the house and the female detective received a call from Noah Richards. The Head of Security agreed to another interview with the detective about the murder.

"I thought you'd gotten the guy who had killed that kid?" Noah says over the speaker phone, "why did you ask me to talk to you again?"

"Well, we like to be through with our work, Mr. Richards," Abbie rpleied.

He huffed, "that would be a first . . ."

"don't play smart with us, Noah," Jones warned, "who tells us you didn't fallow Freddy into the park? Who's to say you didn't want to make him pay for making a fool out of you?"

"I told you the truth!" he growled, "I ran after them towards the park, but I stopped at the entrance. It was to dark to see anything!"

"You have nothing else to say?" Abbie asked.

Noah sighed, "but later, I saw someone run off from the park towards the old abandoned house. The one with the treehouse. Now if that's all you wanted to know, I need to go."

Noah hung up on them with a click. Abbie pocketed her phone as they got into their squad car.

"So, Freddy's killer ran back to the treehouse . . ." Jones mused, "I think it's time we take a closer look at it!"

"Agreed," Abbie nodded.

When they got to the old abandoned house, they entered into the backyard through the gate and looked around the treehouse. It wasn't hard for Abbie to spot the bloody handkerchief that was hanging on a rung on the ladder of the treehouse. She slipped on a pair of gloves and picked up the crusty piece of white fabric.

"Finally, a new lead!" Jones breathed, "the blood on this handkerchief is still fresh, let's get a sample!"

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Abbie smirked pulling out her tools.

As Jones had already said, the blood was still fresh so getting a sample of it was easy work. Abbie bagged the evidence up for Grace to look at and they dropped it off at the lab as Ramirez brought Julian back in order for them to talk to him about his father's confession.

"My father didn't kill Freddy!" Julian wailed, "this doesn't make any sense! He did nothing!"

"Why would he turn himself in, then?" Abbie asked gently.

"To . . . to protect someone, I guess. But why? And who?" he asked her hopping for an answer, "he's just to nice! He never screams, he never argues, when I use his priceless Eua Delà, he says nothing! I just . . . I just don't understand!"

"I know this seems hard, Julian," she sighs, "but I promise, we will find out why your father turned himself in."

"T-thank you," he hiccupped.

Jones and Abbie left the room and asked one of the field officers, a young rookie named Hector, to keep an eye on the kid for the time being. As the field officer went to collect the kid, Grace walked into the room with her clipboard in hand.

"The fresh blood you found on that handkerchief was a great clue," Grace informed them, "mixed in with the blood are little carbon particulars, coming directly from the arrow that killed Freddy Stewart."

"Which means the blood belongs to the killer!" Jones cheered, "did you manage to find out anything about them?"

"Well, I managed to find your killer's blood type," she filed a paper on her clipboard, "they're A positive."

"And I'm positive we'll catch them before sunrise," Abbie laughed.

Ramirez shuffled over looking like a zombie, "Abbie, Alden Greene asked to see you, he said he found something that might help your investigation . . ."

"Holy crap, Ramirez," jones cursed, "when was the last time you took a break? You look awful!"

"I wanted to help the investigation . . ." he yawned, "someone's got to answer the phone . . ."

"You're not going anywhere that doesn't have a bed, Ramirez!" he ordered, "take a nap while we're at Alden Greene's, and then you'll be allowed to help!"

"Phooooone . . ." Ramirez groaned as Grace guided him over to the couches, "phooooooooooooone . . ."

Knowing that their team mate was in capable hands, Jones, Abbie and Hunter left the station to go see what Greene wanted to show them.

The security guard was waiting for them at the main entrance when they arrived. He showed them to the elevator and the partners road it up to the CEO's office floor. Greene was sitting behind his desk when they entered.

"Mr. Greene," Abbie greeted, "you said you wanted to see us?"

"Yes," Greene nodded sitting forward, "I looked around again, and I seem to have lost my bottle of Eua Delà. I suppose Mr. Stewart took it, but that's not why I called you. I looked through the recordings of the surveillance cameras surrounding my house, and I found the video related to the robbery."

"That's wonderful!" she smiled for once, genially happy in the man's presence.

"Unfortunately, the CD has been badly damaged," he pulled out a box with plastic pieces inside, "but I'm sure you'll be able to repair it in no time, Detective Abbie!"

He slid the box of CD pieces across his desk and Abbie accepted them into her possession. They thanked Greene for the help with their case and left his office as fast as they could. They went back to their own office to repair the CD for analyses.

Abbie spread out the pieces on her desk and grabbed the small bottle of glue next to them. She maneuvered the pieces into place and secured them together with the glue. Once the CD had been repaired, they handed it over to Alex for him to work his magic.

 _One CD analyses later_   _. . ._

"I took a look at the surveillance footage Greene gave you," Alex grinned as he told his friends about what he found, "and the camera's pointed directly at the park! Its last images are from the murder!"

"Did you get a look at the killer's face?" Jones inquired.

"No, but I did manage to gather some info," he replied, "based on their surroundings, I deduced that the person you're looking for is 5'0"."

Abbie's face fell, "my . . . height? Are you sure?"

"Positive," Alex says, "why?"

"I . . . I have an arrest to make . . ." she mutters leaving the room with Hunter at her feet.

Jones thanked the other man and hurried to keep up with his partner, "hey, what's wrong? We have the killer!"

"Yes, we do . . . but I didn't want it to be right," she sighs, "why, for once, couldn't the evidence be wrong!"

"But we caught the killer!" he argued, "we're going to put a criminal behind bars!"

"Criminal or not, I didn't want it to be him, I didn't think it could be him," she says opening the door to the interrogation room.

Julian Ramis looked up, "hi Detective Abbie."

"Julian," Abbie kneeled in front of the kid's seat, "I know you killed Freddy. Just . . . please explain to us what happened, we need to understand."

Jones gasped as Julian started to cry.

"It was an accident! Just an accident!" he wailed, "I never wanted to kill Freddy!"

"I know you didn't," she hushed, "and I know it was an accident, but we need to know how it happened."

"We robbed the Greene mansion together. I was . . . I was scared, but I fallowed. I could never say no to Freddy," Julian explained through his tears, "he was fascinated with that crossbow, he wanted it as a trophy, the proof that even Alden Greene could do nothing against him. Once we had run off to the park, he put it in my hands, he was laughing and everything!"

"And then what happened?" she prompted.

"But it was older and rustier then we thought . . .the arrow went off on its own . . ." he paused to let out a strangled cry, "I never wanted to hurt him! It's an accident!"

"God," Jones breathed, "what a . . . what a mess. It's just sad."

Abbie felt her heart break as she watched the child before her broke down into a pile of tears through his confession. He continued to repeat the same phrase over and over.

"It was an accident," Julian cried.

_In the Courtroom . . ._

"Julian Ramis, you stand before this Court for the death of Freddy Stewart," Judge Hall looked down at the young boy with sadness in her voice, "do you have anything to say to the Court?"

"Please Your Honour!" Edward begged, "it was just an accident! He never meant to kill anyone! He's just a kid!"

"I understand Mr. Ramis, but the law is clear," she says, "Julian has to understand the gravity of his actions."

"I understand, Your Honour," Julian spoke up, "I . . . I understand."

"Participating in the act of theft is a serious offense in itself. Robbing other people's properties is not a game, and that's how you and Mr. Stewart took it," she lectured the boy, "had you refused to join Mr. Stewart in the robbery of Mr. Greene's mansion, nothing would have happened. Mr. Stewart would still be alive."

Julian nodded. Jones and Abbie felt pangs of guilt in their chest as they listened to the trial.

"Julian Ramis, you're condemned to 1 year in a Juvenile Detention Center for the involuntary manslaughter of Freddy Stewart!" Olivia delivered her vitric.

"No! Please!" Julian started to cry, "I never meant to do this! Daddy, please! Don't let them take me!"

Edward was kept behind the gate as his son was led away by the Correction officers to be taken to the Grimsborough Juvenile Detention Center. The rest of the public and jury filed out of the room after him to head home.

"Its just crazy how a stupid, childish mistake can destroy so many lives," Jones sighed, "Julian is a good kid, better then most even, and he's gonna spend the next year behind bars . . . I know we had to bring him to justice, but . . . I won't be doing that every day, Abbs."

"I couldn't agree with you more," Abbie responded, "I don't think I'll be getting any sleep."

"Might as well try," he says, "I'll drop you off at home."

"Thanks," she said getting into the car.

_A few hours later, just before sunrise . . ._

Abbie sat at her desk typing up her report. Her mug of fresh coffee had been refiled so many times that she lost count, not an easy feat for the Canadian. Hunter sat at her feet rolling a ball with her noise against the desk. Chief King entered the room on his way to the elevator to leave for a break, he stopped when he saw his detective was still there.

"Abbie?" he called to her.

"Huh?" she mumbled not looking up.

"What are you still doing here?" he asked shutting the monitor off.

She blinked, "couldn't sleep, work distracts me form that . . ."

"It also reeks havoc on your body," he scolded, "arresting Julian can't have been an easy decision to take, but you did the right thing, as always. I'm proud of you."

"At least on of us is," she sighed running a hand down her face.

"I shouldn't do this to you," he sighed, "but as always, your job isn't quite done. First, it would be wise to see how Mr. Ramis is doing; seeing his son sent to jail might push him to do some unwise actions. And Miss Stewart can't be feeling much better after the loss of her brother. Go check up on her as well!"

"Of course!" she beamed standing up, "I'm on it, Alab!"

"I'm not finished!" he chuckled, "Noah Richards has requested our help with missing object. He talked about public safety. Go sort this out!"

"Yes, sir!"

Abbie ran out of the office with Hunter and the two headed down to the parking lot. The detective unlocked the door to her squad car and climbed into the driver's seat after the dog. They drove over to the Greene mansion, the large high-class house located along the waterfront glammed from the flood lights shinning on it.

Abbie was buzzed inside the gate by the watch guard and she slowly drove up to the front porch. Noah was waiting for her on the steps tapping his foot impatiently as she parked the car. Her and Hunter got out and walked up to the security guard.

"Well you certainly took your time!" Noah grunted.

"What seems to be the problem, Noah?" Abbie aske politely.

"There's another object of Mr. Greene missing," he explained, "those little brats must have stolen it and left it in the park."

"And what would you like me to do?" she questioned, "Mr. Greene can file a complaint with the appropriate services tomorrow, today? You know what I mean."

"And leave a gun lying around the park where anyone might find it?" he argued, "are you insane?!"

"A gun?" she repeated, "why didn't you start with that?! Don't worry, me and Hunter will go find it immediately."

"Thank you," he says, "I will keep it a secret from Mr. Greene in the mean time. This is my number, call me when you have found it."

Noah handed Abbie a slip of paper with a cellphone number scrawled a crossed it hastily. She slipped it into her page as she climbed back into her car. She hurried over to Cooper park through the empty streets as fast as the speed limit allowed her to. She parked along the front of the park and got out to search the area where Freddy's body had been found.

The ground around the base of the tree had fluffed up since the body had been removed. The grass could use a good trim before the sown started to fall, but it was still short enough to search through. Abbie passed her hand through the grass while Hunter sniffed around for the sent of gun powder residue. The K-9 picked up the faint smell under the park bench and pushed out the handgun with her nose.

"Sometimes I think you're trying to upstage me, Hunt," Abbie teased hugging the German Shepperd, "now, let's see what this serial number says. . ."

Whoever had taken the gun had tried to file off the serial number stamped on the handle of the grip, but the scratches weren't deep and poorly made. She typed the serial number into the database for gun registry and hit search. It took only a matter of seconds for the number to come back as registered to Alden Greene for the collector's WWII Smeeth & Watson.

"Wow," Abbie breathed admiring the gun, "and it's in perfect condition . . . which means someone could have gotten killed or hurt if the person who found it decided to us it . . . let's call Noah to come get it."

Hunter barked in agreement. Abbie made the call to Greene's Head of Security and after a quick conversation, he agreed to meet her at the park in ten minutes. After she had hung up, the detective and K-9 went to wait for Noah in their squad car. When he arrived, Abbie handed him the gun.

"Good," Noah sighed in relief, "if Mr. Greene realized it was gone, he'd have my hid for sure. Thank you, I owe you one."

"Don't worry about it," Abbie smiled, "it's my job to protect the citizen. Just . . . try to be more observant in the future, okay?"

He nodded, "I will, in fact. When I get back I'm going to look into updating all of our security systems and cameras."

"Good idea," she nodded, "with how powerful and wealthy Greene is, it would be a good idea for some extra protection."

They went their separate ways and Abbie drove over to the Stewart house. On the way she decided to drive past the abandoned treehouse to see if anything had happened to it. A car was parked in the drive way and she slowed to a stop when she saw that Edward Ramis was standing in the entrance way to the backyard of the fence. The Turk got out of the car and hurried over to the man.

"Mr. Ramis?" she called as she neared, "what are you doing here? Are you alright?"

Stupid question. Edward turned to look at the detective. His eyes were hollow and void of emotion, the rest of his face was twisted in anger and the dark bags under his eyes showed that he wasn't doing well with his son's confession. A strong stench of brandy was prominent on his breath as he grinded his teeth together.

"My son was just sent to prison for murdering his best friend! He will never be the same again!!" he spat," how could I  _ever_  be alright?!"

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely, "but there was nothing that could have been done, but I promise. The GPD will help your son in anyway we can once he is realised. He can have a life."

Edward turned back to the treehouse, "they always hung out here, even when I forbid them to. I though maybe . . . maybe coming here would make me feel closer to my son . . ."

"Mr. Ramis, I think you should go home now," she suggested.

"I know . . ." he agreed looking embarrassed, "but I've . . . I might have drunk a little too much and . . . I can't find the key to my MWB X1 anywhere."

"I'll take a look around for it," she promised, "why don't you go take a seat in my car while you wait? I have some Turkish Delights in the center console you can have."

He nodded his thanks and walked down to the parked car. Abbie and Hunter entered the backyard to have a look around for the key. Having no idea where Edward had been in there, they simply split up to cover more ground. Abbie couldn't find anything on or under the deck, but Hunter barked as she sat in front of a wheelbarrow filled with compost.

"If Jones was here, he'd make me search it by claiming to be allergic to compost," Abbie smirked tipping over the bin.

The rocks, dirt, leaves, and worms tumbled out onto the ground like snowflakes falling for the first time of the season. Abbie and Hunter dug through the compost and found a small car key in the middle of it all.

"Eureka!" Abbie exclaimed, "look girl, a key!"

Hunter cooked her head.

"It might be Edwards . . . better compare it to our database to be sure though," she said pulling out her laptop.

She looked up the pictures they had for a MWB X1 on file and found some for the face, handle, and blade. She looked from the key to the picture until she was sure the one she had in her hands was a match to the pictures. She slipped her laptop back into the bag and dusted herself off as she left to check on Edward.

Abbie tapped on the window, "Mr. Ramis, are you feeling better?"

"Much better now that I've had something to eat," Edward smiled thankful, "did you find my key?"

"Here it is," she answered handing it to him, "however I don't think you are fit enough to drive yourself home, how abut I take you and you can pick the car up after you've had some rest."

"Thank you. Once I'm home I'm going to pack up a few of Julian's things then bring them to the prison," he says as she started the car, "the poor kid needs me now more then ever!"

"Yes, he does," she nodded, "just be careful on the road, don't exceed the speed limit."

"Thank you, Detective."

They drove the rest of the way to Edward's house in silence. Abbie waved goodbye as the father walked to his front door, then drove down the block to the Stewart house. The lights were still on in the ground level rooms so the woman knocked on the door and waited for Ramona to answer it.

Ramona opened it after a few minutes, "oh, Detective Abbie! I miss Freddy so much! What will I do without him to make me laugh?!"

"I wish I could answer that, Ramona," Abbie said, "I really wish I could . . ."

"I loved my little brother to bits," she told the older woman ushering her inside, "I remember when we were children and I thought him how to play chess . . . he was a natural at the game. He even won the National High-School Chess Cup two years ago!"

"Impressive," she praised.

"Detective, could you do something for me?" she asked biting her lip.

"Of course, Ramona," she smiled, "name it."

"I want to place Freddy's trophy on his grave to . . . to remind people that there was more to him than a petty burglar! But I can't find it anywhere!"

"Ramona, finding lost objects happens to be one of my specialities," she laughed, "I'll have a look around your living room right now."

Ramona smiled, "thank you, so, so much."

The young woman went into the kitchen for a smoke break while Abbie got to work. She looked around the bookcases and shelves lining the walls filled with scrapbooks, pictures, and other awards. On the shelve behind the couch, she spotted a pile of broken metal pieces and wood.

"Oh no," she groaned, "the trophy just had to be broken, didn't it?"

 _"Arf!"_  Hunter barked wagging her tail.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, girl," she smirked grabbing her glue.

She pieced together the metal pieces and wood with the glue using a picture of when Freddy had won it, which was hanging on the wall above it. Ramona was hugging her brother tightly as he raised the cup proudly in the air as their mother and father stood behind them smiling from ear to ear. When the trophy was repair, she called Ramona back into the room.

"Good news, I found your brother's trophy!" Abbie announced holding it up.

"Thank you so much," Ramona smiled taking it, "he was so proud of this award . . . he couldn't stop smiling for days!"

"I can see why," she chuckled, "when are your parents getting home?"

"A few hours, were going to go get Freddy's b-body afterwards . . ." she looked sadly, "I'm just happy to know that Freddy will be remembered for something other then his robberies."

"And he will," she promised, "once people see that trophy, they wouldn't stop talking about how he won it."

"Thank you, detective, for everything," Ramona says showing her to the door.

Abbie drove back to the station to check in with Chief King and report that everything was shorted out. She road the elevator up to the top floor and her and Hunter entered his office. King wasn't in when she entered so she walked up to his desk to take a seat and wait. His high back leather chair was pulled away from the desk and she gave in to temptation and sat in it instead of the stiff ones he had for guests. Hunter curled up at her feet as Abbie finally relaxed after the long night and closed her eyes as the sun raised over the horizon.

"Ah, Abbie, I thought I saw you come-" Chief King stop when he took in the sight before him.

Abbie's breathing had evened out into a soft pace as her head tilted to the side. He walked to the windows and drew the curtains closed, noticing Hunter was asleep at her partner's feet. He walked back to his door and softly closed it.

"Good morning, Detective," he whispered closing the door.


	26. Innocence Lost

"Good morning, Detective," Chief King greeted the Muslim woman sitting at her desk, "I'm afraid I have bad news for you. A young woman was just found dead on a construction site."

"I didn't know that there was construction going on in the Financial Center," Abbie said.

"The site is on the outskirts of the Financial Center," he elaborated, "the mayor is heading a large-scale renovation here, funded by Alden Greene. There's a lot of money riding on this."

"Hi, Abbie," Jones grinned as he strolled into the office, late, "what did I miss?"

"Jones!" King growled, "showing up late for work? Ramirez is already at the scene, that should be telling you a lot!"

He gulped, "uh . . . sorry Chief! Let's go right now, Abbs, you can brief me on the way!"

"Oh, and, Abbie," he said as the detectives made their way to the elevator, "the mayor and city council are going to be all over my back with this case, i can feel it. I'd appreciate it if you could solve this quickly."

"You can count on me, Alab," Abbie promised.

Jones, Abbie, and Hunter all piled into the squad car and speed off to the construction site. Once they found the large building on the edge of the district, they were shown past the yellow police tape and into the shell of a building. The ground was solid concrete along with most of the walls and pillars, hallways were built to divide the rooms up and make a path to their crime scene. They arrived to the ground floor where the cement was still being poured for the foundation, but in the center of the latest block was their victim's body.

Ramirez was standing about a meter from the block where nathan was kneeling down with a hammer and chisel in his hands, tapping away at the cement encasing his body.

"Abbie! Thank God you here, it's crazy!" Ramirez cried seeing his friend, "oh you should see for yourself."

"I am, Rez," Abbie smirked, "who found the body?"

"The construction crew found the body, a certain Gail Harding, this morning upon arriving to work," he answered, "watch your step though, the building's about to be refurbished, but it's not safe yet. There's a big hole in the entrance, which they covered up after I fell in."

"You fell in?!" both detective asked worried.

"Are you okay?" Jones asked, "uh, take it easy, Ramirez, we'll take it from here."

"Thank you!" Ramirez says relieved stepping away from the block, "I can't wait until they remove the body! I'm having chills just looking at it!"

"I'm trying." Nathan grunted pulling out a hunk of cement, "this stuff is  _dry_ , you know."

"Well, we've seen some pretty crazy things of our own," Abbie smirked, "right, Jonesy?"

"And getting crazier," Jones agreed, "care to have a look around?"

"You don't even have to ask," she replied getting to work.

The large yellow concrete mixer sitting next to the block was obviously their murder weapon. The machine had recently been used and Abbie managed to find a faint trace of white powder on the handle and lever. She took a sample for Grace and set it with Nathan's supplies.

"Grace should be able to tell us what this white powdery stuff is," Jones nodded seeing what she had, "anything else?"

Abbie looked around and picked up a torn card hidden in a woodpile, "this might give us a clue to our victim's last steps."

"I guess it's time for a little puzzle-solving, Abbs!" he joked.

She pulled out her tape and used the strips to patch it back up. Whoever had ripped up the card had done a horrible job at destroying it, it only took her ten seconds to repair it. It turned out to be a business card for the Stone Cold Motel, with the words "Room #9" written across it in black permanent marker.

"It's a card for a place called the Stone Cold Motel," Abbie informed handing it to her partner.

Jones skimmed it, "look! There's a mention of a Room #9! We should check it out. We can go there as soon as you're ready."

"Are you two alright to finish up here alone?" she asked the coroner and field officer.

Nathan dropped another chunk of concrete into his pile, "go on, I still have sixty pounds to chip away."

"And I still have to get the last of the construction workers statements," Ramirez added, "I'll stay until Nathan is done."

Jones and Abbie left the construction site and found the address for the motel the card belong to. It was also located along the outskirts of the district just a ten minute drive from their current location. They reached the plain motel and walked down the row of doors until they reached Room #9. A blonde haired was inside the room picking up discarded solo cups and pizza boxes.

"Hi, fellas," she greeted, "what can I do for you? You've come to make a reservation?"

"Well, ma'am, no," Jones says, "we're here on a criminal investigation with the Grimsborough PD. a woman died around this neighborhood. We think she may have stayed in this room."

"Whatever," she shrugged, "go ahead if you must. I just started cleaning up the place. Just be quick about it, you hear?"

"We'll be done before you know it," Abbie promised.

They woman just grunted in reply and left the room. Luckily for the detectives she hadn't gotten too far in her cleaning and most of the mess from last night was still lying around. Jones checked the bed and found a black leather handbag tucked in between the pillows. Abbie looked under the furniture and found a credit card receipt stuck underneath the table leg.

"Abbie!" Jones called holding the bag's pink keychain, "the keychain on this purse says "Gail", just like our victim's name. We need to have a look inside."

"And this receipt is for a bottle of tequila that cost about as much as a month's pay," Abbie remarked skimming the contents, "the paper got wet so the numbers are smudged, but I'll figure them out in a flash."

"Alright," he says dumping the contents of the bag onto the bed, "and when you have the time, I'd like to have a proper chat with the motel owner, to see if she saw anything interesting."

They each went to work on their own tasks, Jones sifting through Gail's belongings while Abbie deciphered the smudged ink. She carefully read the letters and numbers one by one until she had managed to make out the string of them that made up the credit card's number. While she bagged up the papers together, Jones picked up an access card for the Grim News.

"This Grim News access card give clearance to Gail Harding," he reported, "which means Gail worked for Grim News. Which means . . . that it's time to go pay a visit to our favorite reporter!"

"And we can run this credit card over to Alez on the way," Abbie added, "but let's go have our chat with the motel owner first."

They closed the door to the room and taped a yellow 'X' across the door with their tape. Then they went to find the motel's owner inside the manager's office. The woman was sitting behind a desk smoking a cigarette. She snuffed it out in an ashtray when they entered.

"Are you the owner of this motel?" Abbie asked.

"Sure am," the woman replied, "Susan Peck, I take care of this place while my husband takes care of the bills."

"Mrs. Peck," Jones chimed in, "what can you tell us about Gail Harding, the woman who stayed in room #9?"

"Nothing," Susan says shrugging it off, "name doesn't ring a bell. I don't keep a ledger, my guests enjoy the anonymity, you see. Are you folks done yet?"

"No, and the room is now police property," he informed, "you don't keep any records at all? How do you keep track of what your clients owe you?"

"My memory's a fickle thing . . ." she hummed, "it tends to fade away when cops are around. Now you have a good day."

With those words, Susan shooed them out of her office and closed the door in their faces. Jones, Abbie, and Hunter walked back to their car and drove over to the Grim News headquarters.

"Well, that woman had some nerves!" Jones complained, "I get a feeling I've seen her somewhere before. Let's keep an eye out for anything that might get her to talk. I'm aching to see what she's hiding."

"Well, for now we have a murder to solve," Abbie reminded as she parked in the news building's parking lot, "and a reporter to talk to."

They found Rachel in her office space barking orders to interns and camera men. Carl was present by her side holding his camera and her mike, when he say the detectives he tapped his boss on the shoulder to get her attention. When Rachel gave him a questioning look, he just nodded at the partners. The reporter dismissed the rest of the news crew before walking over to the cops.

"Merhaba, Rachel," Abbie greated, "do you know a Gail Harding?"

"Gail Harding? Of course I know her," Rachel replied, "she's my personal assistant. And not a very good one at that . . . she didn't even bother showing up for work this morning!"

"Well that's probably because she's dead," Jones said nonchalantly.

"Dead?! That's awful!" she gasped, "who will finish her article now?"

"Ah . . . I think the fact that she's has died is a greater loss," Abbie blinked but didn't seem to surprised at the reaction.

"Look, Gail's death is a terrible loss, and all that," Rachel assured, "but I can't really say that I'm surprised, considering what she was working on."

"And what exactly was that, Rachel?" Jones inquired.

"I sent her to investigate Greene Holdings," she says, "nobody there will speak to me anymore, but I thought they wouldn't pay attention to a ditz like her. Apparently I was wrong."

"And apparently, when you investigate Greene, it doesn't end well," Abbie rolled her eyes, "thank you for the information, Rachel."

They left Grim News headquarters and drove back over to the station to see what the rest of the team had found. The elevator rinde down to the basement was in relative silence, save for the faint sounds of Christmas carols coming out of the speakers.

"It's still November," Abbie frowned, "I never understand why people insist on getting ready for Christmas the day after Halloween."

Jones shrugged, "beats me, my mom would start her Christmas baking right after Thanksgiving dinner was done. My house would smell like gingerbread and cinnamon until March!"

"Yum!" she grinned, "I love cinnamon!"

He laughed, "I'll ask her to send you a tin of cookies . . . I'll also make sure she doesn't wish you a Merry Christmas."

"No, she can just with me a Merry Foodmas!" she joked as they entered the morgue.

"Foodmas?" Nathan asked scratching his head with a chisel.

"You had to be there," Abbie says, "so how was the autopsy?"

"Well, I've got to say that's the first time I've had to use a hammer and chisel for an autopsy!" he responded, "it wasn't easy, but I finally managed to get your victim out of the concrete. And considering the contents of her stomach, she must have been partying pretty hard!"

"What makes you say that?" she wondered.

"Cocaine, alcohol, you name it, she took it," he elaborated, "enough to make her overdose and fall into a coma. However, what really killed her was being poured in concrete while unconscious, since it blocked her airway and filled her throat."

"And what can you tell us about her killer?" Jones asked.

Nathan walked over to his counter, "well . . . nothing."

"Nothing?!" he shouted.

"Nothing," he repeated picking up a hunk up concrete, "but I did save you some concrete rubble. Maybe you should have a look at it, Abbie."

"Hand it over," Abbie ordered.

He dropped the chunk of concrete onto the table and Abbie got to work examining it. It was hard to distinguish what was dust from the stone and what was a new clue, but she still managed to find a thin sliver of dried liquid on some of the block. She scraped off a sample and set it next to her.

"Good thing Nathan didn't throw this concrete out, Abbs," Jones remarked looking at what she'd found, "this sample of, stuff, might have come from our killer!"

"But first we need to figure out what it is," Abbie reminded.

"Let's check our scientific database," he says.

She nodded and pulled out her laptop and microscope. She hooked it up to the USB port and found the database he was talking about. She slid the slide under the lens and adjusted the knob until she had the molecules clear to see. She then matched sections of the sample to the ones in the database and found the right match.

"Great job! So the molecules you found on the concrete rubble is actually taurine!" Jones praised, he blinked when he thought about what he said, ". . . too bad I have absolutely no idea what that is."

"And this, is why you have me," Nathan piped up, "taurine is the main active ingredient in most energy drinks. People often mix them with their liquor to offset the sedative effects of alcohol. Puls, it was the one thing Gail hadn't ingested."

"So Gail's killer drinks energy drink," Abbie clarified, "I always heard those were bad for you, but I didn't think they would make you kill people!"

"Yeah," Jones agreed, "thanks, Nathan, this is going to be a big help."

"Āpakā svāgata hai," Nathan says as they leave his lab.

Jones, Abbie and Hunter road the elevator up to the top floor to check in with Alex and Grace. As they walked out into their office, they found the brunette and redhead waiting for them on the couches.

"Alex, would you like to go first?" Grace asked politely.

"Yeah!" Alex cheered, he cleared his throat, "it wasn't easy, but that's why you came to me, right? That receipt from the motel told me that our party animal is none other than Derek Molina himself."

". . . Derek who?" Jones asked confused.

"Jones, now, you need to spend more time on the internet," he deadpanned, "he's a famous start-up CEO and entrepreneur. And he funded his current company with capital that came straight from . . . Greene Holdings!"

"I knew that!" he blushed, "let's go see what Mr. Molina has to say to us."

"Before you go, i think you'd like to know you struck gold with that powder you collected from the murder weapon," Grace cut in.

"What was it?" Abbie asked.

"It's cocaine!" she announced, "and a sample seems to have come from the killer's nosebreath. Good job finding such a frigiel sample."

"So our killer is a cocaine user," Abbie mused, "they sure like getting a rush."

"Now to go find Derek," Jones says.

"No need," Alex grinned, "I already got him to come to the station, he's been waiting in your interrogation room for about ten minutes."

"Well isn't someone a busy bee," Abbie chuckled, "thank, Alex."

The detectives walked down the hall to the room where the CEO was waiting. They found Derek sitting in the chair scrolling through his phone, which he placed face down one he heard them enter.

"I'm Detective Abbie and this is my partner Jones," Abbie made the introductions, "we're investigating the murder of Gail Harding. She was found in a block of concrete this morning."

"Gail? Dead! . . . and like this! That's crazy!" Derek exclaimed, "she's not the kind of girl I usually hang out with, y'know, but I liked her. She was . . . she was authentic, and that's something to cherish around here."

"Did Gail ever talk to you about any problems she was having?" she asked, "anything worrying her?"

"The thing if, Gail was constantly worried about work, kept saying her boss hated her guts," he explained, "she disliked Rachel very much in return, and I don't blame her."

"Do you know why?" Jones questioned.

Derek shook his head, "no, so I took her under my wing, showed her some good times. She had a fun personality, and I took her out to party occasionally."

"Occasionally? How about last night?" he asked showing the CEO the his credit card receipt, "we found this receipt with your credit card number on it in her motel room."

"Uh . . . I don't know," he fidgeted with his bowtie, "I was really loaded last night, I'm not quite clear about what I did, but I guess that's possible."

"Well thank you for your time," Abbie handed the man her card, "we may have further questions for you, but if you remember anything. Please give me a call."

"Will do, detective," Derek assured leaving the room.

"It seems Derek may have seen the victim last . . ." Jones whispered, "which earns him a nice spot on our suspect list!"

"Along with the others," Abbie says.

They left the interrogation room and headed to their boss's office to update Chief King on what they had found.

"So! What progress have you made on the murder of Gail Harding?" King asked once they were seated sat his desk, "any interesting leads, anything . . . concrete?"

Jones and Abbie faked a laugh to cover up their groans.

"Oh, uh, nice one, Chief," Jones coughed, "we've talked to several suspects, but nothing conclusive has emerged."

"Although we have determined that our killer uses cocaine and takes energy drinks," Abbie added.

"Well this will help you then: a certain Phillip Rockwell, a business executive at Greene Holdings, has requested a word with you," King informed handing them the man's file, "he says it has to do with Miss Harding's death."

"Great!" Jones grinned, "a new suspect, and we didn't even have to work for it. Greene's offices are downtown."

"Let's go!" Abbie ordered standing up.

As they were gathering their coats and mittens to get ready to leave, Ramirez hurried over from his desk before they got in the elevator.

"Guys! I heard you were heading for the Greene offices, downtown," Ramirez says, "I've asked around a bit, and several people have reported seeing Gail there yesterday evening sitting on a bench."

"Was she waiting for someone?" Abbie asked.

"And since when do you investigate our cases?!" Jones demanded, his partner slapped him upside the head.

"I . . . thought it might be useful!" Ramirez explained, "and I'm sorry, I don't know what Gail was doing, but apparently she was there for quite some time."

"Well, that's not much, but thanks anyway, Ramirez," Jones patted the man on the back, "Abbie, we should have a look downtown on our way to Rockwell's office."

"Better hurry before any of the evidence gets lost," Abbie said following him out.

Once they got to the location that Ramirez had given them, they checked the benches near the square but found no traces of Gail or what she was there for. Abbie looked around and saw a garbage man removing the trash bag from the only garbage can in the square, she ran over and quickly explained what they were doing. The man shrugged and gave her the bag saying, "less work for me", then whistled as he got into his truck.

"Well, there was nothing on the bench on which Gail would have sat at . . ." Jones grumbled, "what peaked your interest?"

"Shiny," Abbie responded showing him the contents.

He peaked inside, "I agree, there seems to be something shiny in that trash bag. We should sift through it, just to be sure."

"Just let me put my gloves on and I'll get started," she placed the bag on the ground and pulled out a pair of rubber gloves.

Since the object that was shining from the thrash contents was near the top, Abbie only had to pull out a few soda cans, cigarette packages and banana peels to find the small car key.

"Who drops a car key into the trash?" Jones asked surprised, "unless they don't want it to be found?"

"Well, it's bound to be in our car database!" Abbie responded, "let's have a look shall we?"

"I'll return this to the trash can," he said picking up the black garbage bag.

While he left to do that, Abbie and Hunter sat down on the bench and got to work. She pulled out the car registry database and found the file on keys, she added some basic information to narrow the search and found the car that matched the key.

"This key belongs to a VM City Cruiser," Abbie told Jones once he got back.

"It's a very common model," he mused, "but I'm pretty confidant Alex will manage to find the owner of that precise car key."

They emailed the car registration to Alex with an explanation of what they needed him to find. Once the email was sent, they continued to Rockwell's office to see what he wanted.

A secretary showed them into the office and told them that Philip would be with them monetarily. The detectives looked around the clean room as they waited for the man. After fifteen minutes of reading outdated magazines and newspapers, Phillip Rockwell decided to grace them with his presence.

"Detective Abbie," Philip shook her hand, "let me begin by saying how much I am saddened and shocked, like everyone at Greene Holdings, regarding the murder of Gail Harding."

"How is it you came to know Miss Harding?" Abbie asked.

"You see, Miss Harding was writing an article on Green Holdings," he answered, "I was in regular contact with her, so I thought you'd come see me eventually. Especially now that Mrs. Prentis is throwing thinly veiled accusations at me, suggesting I had something to do with Miss Harding's death. There's a lawsuit coming her way if she keep at it."

"Ever heard of freedom of press, Mr. Rockwell?" Jones snorted, not seeing a point to this conversation, "do you have any other information on the victim?"

"Well, not as such, but if I were you, I'd be talking to Derek Molina," Phillip volunteered sitting at his desk, "I've come to understand he was quite close to Miss Harding, and I'm sure his drug habit is something you'll find worthy of interest."

"I see . . ." he nodded, "Mr. Rockwell, do you know Mr. Molina personally?"

"I've met him, yes," he scoffed, "Greene Holding supplies funding for Mr. Molina's company, in spite of my personal advice. I don't find him trustworthy."

"Thank you for the information, Mr. Rockwell," Abbie strained a smile, "if we have anymore questions, we will contact you."

As they left the office they entered the elevator to ride down to the lobby.

"Derek's drug habit?" Jones pondered, "I think it's pretty clear we need to talk to him again."

"And Phillip certainly seems to have a strong dislike of Rachel," Abbie added, "we should go have a word with her to."

He nodded, "Rockwell throwing a defamation suit at her wouldn't be doing anyone a favor."

"I looked up Derek's office building, the Grim News headquarters is just a block before it from her," she explained taking the wheel once they were at the car.

She drove over to the Grim News building and they found Rachel in the large office space at her desk, typing on her keyboard like a maniac. Her trash bin was overflowing with energy drink cans and there was another one of the drinks on her desk.

"I'm just finishing up this news report, then I'll be right with you, Detective Abbie" Rachel told them rapidly not breaking her concentration, "I've been up all night preparing for this one. A look at Greene's inner workings: the soul-crushing corporate culture that-"

"Rachel, please lay off the accusations about Greene Holdings for now," Abbie begged worried for the woman, "you're ruffling some feathers, and definitely not helping the investigation . . ."

"And . . . why are you so hyper?" Jones asked already knowing the answer, "it almost looks as if you're on drugs . . ."

"Please don't baby me, Jones," Rachel laughed turning to face them, "it's only from taking these energy drinks! How else am I supposed to keep up those long hours?!"

"But about the case," he brought the conversation back.

"As for the case, all I'm doing is raising some questions," she glared, "I want the truth to come out. But . . . I catch your drift, and I'll be careful not to expose my legal backside."

"Well just make sure you don't expose any other part you don't want injured," he advised "let's go, Abbs."

The partners left the report to her work and energy drinks. They stopped at a small cafe on the way to their car for lunch and coffee.

"Rachel really isn't the type to back down, don't you think, Abbie?" Jones asked as he ate his meal.

Abbie popped a piece of bread in her mouth, "if you ask me, some secrets should stay a secret."

"You said it," he replied, "ugh, I need a change of scenery. Let's go and take another look at that motel room."

"Sure, then we can see what Derek has to say about the drug claim from Rockwell."

They finished up their lunches and coffee and payed the bill before driving over to the Stone Cold motel. When they got there they found that they police tape they had left on the door hadn't been tampered with. They entered the motel room and started another look around.

Jones rechecked the bed and chairs for anything he might have missed, Abbie took a look at the small bathroom and closet but found nothing but empty shampoo bottles and dirty socks. Hunter walked all around the room sniffing the air and stopped at the small table and barked. She had found a cocaine mirror.

"Nice Hunt!" Abbie praised seeing the drug object, "a cocaine mirror is definitely worth our interest."

"I agree," Jones smirked, "we should dust it for prints."

They dusted the mirror where they could see faint fingerprint marks. They found a dozen useable prints and transferred them onto a sheet of paper, separating each one in the squares.

"Oh, man!" Jones whistled looking at all the fingerprints, "this mirror is a real smorgasbord of fingerprints! There's so many, I don't think anyone but Alex would know what to do with them."

"Let's send them all to the lab then," Abbie said putting the mirror in an evidence bag and tapping the paper to the front.

They dropped the fingerprints off at the station for Alex to process through the system for a match. Then they drove over to Derek Molin's office building, a renovated warehouse with high windows, visible pipework, and the brickwork uncovered.

"Mr. Molina," Jones waved the CEO over, "your contact at Greene Holdings has told us about your drug habit. Care to enlighten us?"

"I don't know what you've hear exactly, but this is a private matter, and none of your concern," Derek paled slightly around his eyes, "I built my company with my own bare hands, you . . . you have no idea what it's like to be me!"

"Mr. Molina!" Abbie interjected, "I'm not here to investigate your drug abuse."

"Now you can be a pain in the ass if you want, and then we'll find the evidence we need to be a pain for you," Jones threatened, "or . . . you can cooperate."

"Whatever, man. Yeah, taurine, cocaine, caffeine, tequila . . ." Derek listed off on his fingers, "I take it all. You've got to if you wanna keep up with the business! I even got my partner, Irina Phelps, to like those energy drinks. That's our line of work for you."

"Thank you, Mr. Molina," Abbie smiled, "that was very helpful."

Derek nodded and walked off to check over the statistics of a project.

"If this Irina Phelps Derek told us about takes energy drinks, that at least makes her a person of interest in my books, Abbs," Jones hummed.

"I think we read the same books," Abbie smirked.

"Maybe she knew Gail as well. Doesn't hurt to ask, does it?"

"Hayır demek."

They asked an intern where they might find Irina in the office. He directed them to the loft and down the balcony until they reached the woman's office. They knocked on the white door and a voice from inside called them to enter.

"Irina, I'm Detective Abbi and this is Jones, were investigating the murder of Gail Harding," Abbie explained, "had you know her?"

"I knew Gail, yes. She was very . . . quaint, and fun to be around," Irina reminisced, "we were together the night she died, but I left early. Whoever murdered her . . . must have done it sometime after I went home."

"Do you know if she had any enemies?" she question.

"I just can't imagine who would want to do this to her!" she sighed, "she had no enemies, as far as I know. Except for her boss, Rachel, of course. They were like oil and water, couldn't mix. She was a cute girl. Gentle, naive. I'm sad to say it, but I'm sure Derek had at least some fun at her expense."

"What do you mean, Miss Phelps?" Jones inquired.

"Well, I said "cute", not beautiful. She had a difficult . . . physique," Irina decided on, "coupled with her slightly air-headed personality, well, you could say she was an original."

Abbie raised an eyebrow, "I thought you were a friend of Gail's?"

"Don't get me wrong, I loved the girl," she smiled, "but Derek probably some sense of . . . pity, I suppose? In order to hang out with her."

"I see," she nodded, "thank you for the time, Irina."

"My pleasure."

They left Derek Molina's office building and got into their car to call Alex about what he had found.

"As expected, I found which car the key you found in the trash belongs to," they could almost hear his smirk of satisfaction, "get this: Grim News uses the VM City Cruiser almost exclusively. So I did my research, and sure enough, Grim News has reported one of its company cars missing!"

"Then we need to find this car!" Jones declared, "Alex, have Ramirez get all patrolling officers to start looking for that missing City Cruiser."

"Sure thing!" Ramirez's voice chimed in, "I'll get right on it, I won't disappoint you!"

They heard Alex's laughter and Ramirez's footsteps running out of the room, a dlum 'bang' was heard in the background and the techie laughed haeder.

"Sorry," Alex apologized, "Rez ran into the door before it could open. Where were we?"

"The fingerprints," Abbie answered.

"Right. I've counted up to four different sets of prints coming from the cocaine mirror you found in the motel room," he rambled, "there are two unknown sets . . . but I also got two matches! The first one is your victim, obviously. And there's another match on the cocaine bag: Susan Peck, a convicted drug dealer."

"Holy shit!" Jones cursed, "Abbie, that's why she was so familiar! So she had sold the cocaine that led gail to her death! I knew something was up about that woman! We're going back there, Abbs, and I'm telling you, she's going to sing like a bird."

"Evet," Abbie agreed.

They rushed over to the motel before Susan could leave for the afternoon. The drug dealer was in her office writing down in a day planner when they arrive.

"Your back," Susan remarked not looking up from her work.

"I could charge you right now, and you could lose everything, Mrs. Peck, or you could tell us what you know," Jones lied.

"What are you talking about?" she grumbled putting her pen down.

"You sold the drugs that the victim overdosed on," Abbie answered.

"Now, wait a minute, folks," Susan stalled, "I didn't sell anything to the girl, and I didn't even know she had overdosed until you told me just now! I merely gave her some from my personal stash. I only do clean drugs and I meant the poor girl no harm."

"And she took it?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, she was so sweet and candid, it was obvious she wasn't used to taking drugs. I'd say she was pressured into taking them. She took the cocaine to share with her buddies. They came into the motel room while I was in the back. And before you ask, I saw none of their faces, nor any part of them."

"Thank you for the explanation, Susan."

The detectives left the office since they really didn't have anything that they could arrest Susan for, detain? Yes. But arrest? No.

"Susan's almost too suspicious," Jones mused, "think about it: a young woman overdoses in your motel, and you've already got a criminal record, and done some jail time. Wouldn't you be tempted to make the body disappear? Wouldn't you think, Abbie?"

"I know I've wanted to erase parts of my past, but to kill someone to do it?" Abbie shook her head, "I don't believe in killing another human being, a life sentence is more my kind of justice."

"Okay, let's regroup!" he clapped his hands together, "this case is baffling me. How did a girl like Gail end up hanging out with people like Derek and Irina?"

"It could have been through her work with Grime News," she suggested, "Rachel may have ordered her to look into the company, or the drug habits of the CEO."

He nodded, "she doesn't exactly look like the kind of girl who would take enough cocaine to OD on the floor of a dingy motel room, does she?"

"No, she seemed like the kind of girl who would try to prevent people from taking drugs," she replied.

"Poor girl," he sighs getting into the car, "she goes out to have fun, and ends up dipped in concrete. Surly nobody des-"

The radio crackled, "Abbie! Jones! I've found the VM City Cruiser, the Grim News company car that was reported missing!"

"Really?" Jones gasped, "Ramirez, I'm shocked, but in a good way!"

"We may finally be getting a break!" Abbie grinned.

"Wait, I've got more!" Ramirez interrupted, "Alex wanted to see you guys, too!"

"Two leads for the price of one!" Jones whooped, "I really want to check out that car, but do you think you can call Alex on the way there, Abbie?"

"Already on it," Abbie says hitting speed dial.

Ramirez told Jones the location of the cruiser and the detective drove to the downtown square while Abbie put Alex on speaker phone.

"You're on speaker, Lex," Abbie told the younger man.

"I've run the fingerprints of your latest suspects against the ones you found on the cocaine mirror! And I found the two missing matches!" Alex declared.

"Who are they?" she inquired.

"Derek Molina is the first, which I'm sure you expected . . ." he trailed off.

"Alex!" Jones yelled to the mic, "results first, game's second."

"But the final fingerprint set belongs to Irina Phelps!" he came back, "they both consumes cocaine with the victim prior to the murder!"

"Which means Irina Phelps has a lot to answer for," Abbie said.

"And I'd like to see Mr. Rockwell again," Jones added parking by the curb, "he was a little too eager to tell on Derek, if you ask me."

"Thanks Alex," Abbie said ending the conversation.

Jones and Abbie got out of the car and walked down the road to the small parking area behind the square. They found a white City Cruiser parked in one of the spaces with the Grim News logo plastered to the sides, and hood.

"This must be the car Ramirez told us about," Jones deduced, "look, there's the Grim News logo card under the windshield."

"Did you grab the key?" Abbie asked.

He patted his pockets and flushed, "shit . . . I thought you had it."

She rolled her eyes, "thirty seconds, that's all I need."

He raised an eyebrow and watched as she reached into her bag and pulled out a long hooked piece of flat metal. She placed it against the driver's side window and wiggled it down while moving it around. There was a click as she pulled it up and the door unlocked.

"Twenty seconds," he whistled, "where on earth did you learn to do that?!"

"My cousin kept locking his keys in his car," she replied, "we were tired of calling in others to come unlock the door, so I learned how to do it myself to save time and money."

"He sounds like an . . . uhh . . ." he hesitated.

"Forgetful?" she supplied with a smiled looking into the car, "he has a learning disability, his working memory is lower than average so he has trouble remembering things and retrieving information."

"Oh," was all he said, "back to the case for now, Gail can't have driven this car back here while she was dipped in concrete. The killer must have taken it downtown."

" Well the headrest got knocked off," Abbie grunted pulling it out of its place, "the killer must have tried to adjust it and broke it in the process."

"Let's see if the killer left something on it," Jones suggested.

"There's something slimy in the leather, right here," she pointed to the center with a thin film over top of the leather.

"We need to get it analyzed ASAP!"

"Let me scrape off a sample and then it can get sent to the lab."

She dropped the sample of the slime into a petri dish and snapped on the cover. They locked the car door and attached the wheel lock on it to prevent the car from being taken until they could impound it in their car lot. Once the car was safe to leave, they ran the sample form the headrest over to the station then went to go see what Phillip Rockwell had to say to them.

"Your little warning to Rachel Priest has been met with weak results, Detective Abbie," Philip informed her with annoyance lacing his words, "she's still out there, accusing us. But now she's being a little more careful."

"I don't know what you expected, Mr. Rockwell," Jones rolled his eyes out of the man's sight, "we're cops, not hired muscle. A woman investigating you was just found murdered, that makes you newsworthy."

"Are you naive enough to think I would go to such lengths to dispatch an intern?" he inquired raising an eyebrow, "Miss Harding was no threat to mo or my company. I merely humored her by answering her questions."

"I see . . . it must be pretty hard to keep up with your schedule," Abbie pondered, "how do you manage? Coffee, energy drinks?"

"I don't see how this is any of your business, but yes, Detective, I do frequently have energy drinks at work," Philip replied, "in any case, I didn't kill Gail, and even if I did, I doubt there's anything at all a beat cop like you could do about it. I know how the system works, you see."

"Thank you for seeing us, Mr. Rockwell," she smiled, "you were quite helpful."

The detectives were shown out of the office and drove across the district to speak with Irina Phelps.

"Irina, your fingerprints have been found on a cocaine mirror along with Gail's, and Derek's," Abbie informed the woman showing her a picture of the mirror.

"So you found my prints on that cocaine mirror, and so what?" Irina sighed cupping her jaw, "I already told you I partied with Gail that night, didn't I?!"

"You're sniffing coke with a girl, she overdoses and somehow ends up encased concrete right afterwards," Jones drawled, "I'd say that makes you suspicious. Wouldn't you?"

"You'vegot it completely wrong!" she defended, "she was trying to impress Derek and got more than she could handle. But she was fine when I left! It's the saddest thing, you know? Gail is murdered, but to her boss it's just another piece of sordid news to fill up her work day."

"So we've heard," Abbie sighed, "we won't take up anymore of your time, Irina."

Once Jones, Abbie and Hunter we're out of the office and back in their car, the American detective drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Abbie," Jones, began, "I really think we should have another chat with Rachel Priest. Irina and Derek have both mentioned that Gail was terrified of her boss. And while I can certainly believe it... I'd still like to hear what Rachel has to say about it."

When they found Rachel at her desk, she had finished typing up her report and was throwing away the rest of her energy drink cans. The remorter waved them over as she tied a knot on the garbage bag.

"Rachel," Abbie looked the woman dead in the eyes, "would you say you didn't get along with the victim?

Rachel snorted, "oh, this is funny. You think I killed my own intern? I've got a career, for God's sake. I won't deny our relationship was strained. The girl never listened to my advice, even though God knows she needed it!

"Is that so?" she muttered.

I'll grant you she did have some drive, but she was too naive for her own good. Her ambition only made her stupid," she sighed, "I shouldn't have sent her to investigate Greene Holdings: In a way, I knew she didn't have the shoulders for it. I didn't think she'd come to harm, though, and to kill her myself? Who the hell do you think I am?"

"We don't see a motive for you wanting, or needing to have killed Gail," Jones admitted, "but you should understand better than anybody that we must investigate every lead we come across, no matter how small or unlikely."

Rachel looked like she wanted to argue, but decided against it," you win, this time."

He smirked satisfied, "glad we can agree for once."

Abbie felt her cellphone vibrate, "sorry, I have to take this."

She stepped off to the side and answered it," Murphy."

"Delaney," Grace laughed, "Sorry, it was to tempting not to.Those molecules you found on the headrest are all components of shampoo, and they don't match with the brand the victim was using."

"Did you have Nathan analyze her hair just for that?" she teased.

She snorted, "I asked for other things aswell. Which means this is your killer's shampoo! And that would have been the end of it...If I hadn't gone that extra mile and fetched you the exact brand, Swavepro L."

"This is going to be fun asking all our suspects which brand of shampoo they use," she rolled her eyes.

"Let me simplify for you: that brand is recommended for the conditioning of long hair. Your killer has long hair, and seems to be taking good care of it!" she added.

"Abbie!" Ramirez's voice came through the speaker, "I told the folks at the construction site they could start work again today, you know, since the body's been removed and all.

"WHAT?!" Abbie yelped, "Ramirez, we haven't cleared the crime scene yet!

"Huh? But... I thought... Maybe they haven't started working again yet!" he suggested, "I'm sorry! I thought you guys were all done, and they kept telling me over and over that they had a tight schedule, so...

"It's fine, Rez," she sighed, "I got to go."

She ended the call and turned towards her partner, "Jones! We need to get a second look at the crime scene before the construction crew messes everything up! Let's go!"

They yelled a hurried goodbye to Rachel as they ran out of the office to get to the crime scene before the construction crew could begin working. They got there just in time to stop them from entering the building and asked for just fifteen minutes to have another look before they got back to work.

"Thank God, the construction crew hasn't started work!" Jones breathed a sigh of relief as they entered the crime scene, "let's have a look around before they kick us out!"

They looked around the second exit of the room and found a scale used for weighing cement bags near it. The needle was stuck at the 320 lbs mark, and the platform scale had dust marks corresponding to something being dragged through it.

"We need to send the scale face to Alex," Abbie said unscrewing it from the base, "hopefully he'll know what to make of it!"

"How about these planks?" Jones questioned with Hunter by his side, "Hunter seems interested in them."

She pulled out a magnifying glass and tweezers, "there's some fibers caught in the splintered part of the boards."

"The killer must have brushed against the plank and left this sample while fleeing the construction site!" he deduced, "we need to get those fibers analyzed."

_Two analyzes later . . ._

"The piece of thread you collected from that plank is very small, barely more than lint: threads of different colours that were part of the same cloth," Grace informed them as her and Alex entered the office space, "your intuition was correct. The threads contained a little bit of the victim's dandruff, which means the fabric was worn by your killer."

"Can you tell anything about the killer's clothing from them?" Abbie inquired.

"By the way they've been weaved and bent out of shape, I can tell that these were originally part of a piece of flannel with a tartan flannel" she replied, "which means your killer wears tartan flannel!"

She smirked at her partner, "what did I tell you?"

"Fine," Jones rolled his eyes, "how about you, Alex?"

"The killer definitely stepped on top of the platform scale you found on the construction site," Alex confirmed, "nice catch! But what's even luckier is the excessive weight seems to have broken the platform, and it remained stuck on 320 lbs."

He cocked an eyebrow, "320 lbs? But it doesn't match any of our suspects' weights!"

"Of course it doesn't. Think about it: the killer was dragging your victim!" he reasoned, "so if you take the victim's weight into account, and subtract it from 320 lbs . . . you get a killer who weighs 140 pounds!"

"Your right," Abbie said doing the quick math, "and I think I know just who are killer is, don't you, Jones?"

"I do believe we are on the same pagee, Abbie," Jones nodded, "let's go arrest a killer!"

_At Derek Molina's Office Center . . ._

"Irina Phleps, you are under arrest for killing Gail Harding," Abbie told the blonde.

"You're right, Detective, I was the one who "killed" Gail," Irina glared, "If you can really call it murder, I mean, the girl was already half dead!

"She might have lived if you had taken her to a hospital!" Jones spat, "who were you to decide she didn't need help?"

"That's not what happened at all!" she insisted shocked, "Derek had already left when I noticed Gail wasn't waking up. I was high, drunk, tired and I guess I panicked. I thought she was dead!"

"But then why bring her to the construction site?" Abbie asked.

"I knew about the construction site, and I thought... I just didn't want the body to be found. Derek and I have so hard to build his company! I couldn't let Gail's stupidity jeopardize everything!" she yelled.

Jones glared, "so you killed Gail Harding to... protect your company?"

"I only did what I felt needed to be done, to make sure Derek didn't have to worry about anything!" Irina defended.

"But Gail struggled, didn't she? You knew she was still alive then!"

She gulped, "she... convulsed yes. It didn't mean anything about her chances of survival. There was no room for hesitation, and I couldn't turn back. I fled the scene quickly."

"Detective Abbie is going to cuff you and take you in. You have the right to remain silent . . ."

_You know where their going now . . ._

Judge Hall read over the verdict, "Irina Phelps, you have pleaded guilty to the murder of Gail Harding. This has been taken into account. You claim to have been drunk, intoxicated, and emotionally disturbed; which supposedly, impaired your capacity to tell right from wrong."

"Nevertheless," she continued, "you are deemed responsible. The victim was unconscious at the time, which is an aggravating circumstance. Would you like to make a statement?"

"Your honor, Gail trusted me and did me no harm. I would never have done this to her if I had been my normal self," Irina explained, "I wish I could take it back. I have felt nothing but regret and sadness since the murder. I only hope that Derek will find a way to move on on his own."

"I see," she nodded, "Miss Phelps, this court finds you guilty of voluntary manslaughter, for which you will spend ten years in prison with a chance of parole in five. Court is adjourned."

As the crowd filed out of the courtroom in pairs, Jones, Abbie and Hunter hung back till the end to walk out in privacy.

"Irina Phelps is going to be behind bars for a while," Jones hummed, "do you think she truly regretted what she's done? Or was that just part of the mask?"

"Some people wear many masks," Abbie replied watching the wind whip the American flag on the courthouse's flagpole, "some have been wearing them for so long, that the mask has become their face."

"I guess you can just never know, in the end, can you?" he mused, "I guess Rachel's fears were proved wrong, Greene Holdings weren't the ones who silenced Miss Harding. She even had me going for it. And we don't have much on Susan Peck. She didn't do Gail any harm, at least not directly, but we'd better keep an eye on her."

"She may very well slip up in the near future know that she knows the police know about her drug dealings," she agreed.

"I'm always impressed at your ability to see through the bullsh*t and soldier on. Let's both go home and call it a day, we've earned it."

_Early the next morning . . ._

"As usual, you've done a great job on this case, Abbie!" Chief King praised, "one day, you might take my place!"

Sbbie chuckled, "I don't think I could, Alab."

He smirked knowingly, "but you're work is not yet over. Workers from the construction site have called us; it seems Rachel Priest is on the site, pestering people! And we've also received a call about Susan Peck. I hear she's been selling ecstasy to teenagers."

"I knew she would get on our radar sooner or later!" Jones cheered.

"Ah, one last thing," he said before they could leave, "a certain Derek Molina called here; he requested your assistance personnel, Abbie."

"OK, Alab!" Abbie nodded, "we'll go check all this right away!

The detectives decided to deal with Rachel and her antics first.

"Detective Abbie, right on time!" Rachel grinned as she waved some dust out of her face, "I was covering Gail's tragic death when those workers took my digital-"

"Rachel," Jones sighed massaging his temples, "this is a private property. Those people have every right to want you out of here."

"You don't understand, they took my digital recorder! It's got all my material inside!" she fumed and stomped her foot on the ground, "I'm  _not_  going anywhere until it's been returned to me! A brand new RecCo DPX-30, the nerve of those people!"

". . . Alright. Look, go back to your office, and Abbie will have a look around for your digital recorder."

"Thank you."

Rachel left the construction site, they could hear her having a short but heated argument with the foreman outside the building. Then Abbie set to work looking for the voice recorder. The workers had brought their supplies back into the room and she found one of the tool boxes to be locked.

"I'm ready to bet you my lunch that the workers hid Rachel's digital recorder in their toolbox . . ." Jones wagered, "after all, this wouldn't be the first time we found something interesting in there!"

Abbie cracked the lock open and they found a voice recorder sitting on the top of the tool pile.

"Bingo! Now what is a digital recorder doing in a toolbox, I wonder . . ." Abbie hummed examining it closer.

"Those guys are such amateurs. I'd have poured the recorder in concrete!" Jones snorted.

"But is it Rachel's recorder?" she questioned, "there's no name or return info."

"Hm, you're right, we do need to make sure it's really Rachel's recorder," he agreed, "we'd better check the RecCo database to see if it matches the model DPX-30 she told us about."

"How many databases do we have?" she muttered pulling out her laptop.

A lot. They had so many databases that they had to use the search bar in order to find the one they wanted. Once they had it they looked up the specifications of the voice recorder mode and compared them with the one they had found.

"Well, there you go! According to the database, the digital recorder we found in the digital toolbox matches the model DPX-30!" Jones cheered.

"Which means it does belong to Rachel," Abbie says slipping it into her pocket, "let's go bring it back to her, shall we?"

They drove towards the Grim News Headquarters but stopped at the Stone Cold Motel on the way by. The got out of the squad car and walked up to the manager's office door and knocked. Susan opened it after a few beats as she kicked something out of their line of sight.

"I knew you were bullshitting us when you said you didn't sell the coke to Gail Harding, Susan!" Jones growled, "and now you're even dealing ecstasy to teenagers?!"

"I have no idea what you're talking aboout!" Susan smiled innocently, "I told you, I'm  _not_  dealing anymore! I bet you people just want to shut my motel; the neighbourhood has never liked me!"

He rolled his eyes, "I wonder why, really."

"Please step aside, Susan," Abbie ordered, "so I can inspect your motel. If you have nothing to hide, then it shouldn't be a problem."

They walked down the rows of motel rooms, most of which had do not disturb signs hanging from the knobs. But the ones that were vacant they went into and searched. Surprisingly, it was in room #9 that they found a small bag of ecstasy pills, the colourful smiley faces stood out in the dirty room.

"This bag clearly holds ecstasy pills," Abbie said.

"Things aren't looking good for Susan Peck, but we need to find her fingerprints on the bag if we want to charge her," Jones says, "Abbs, I'll let you work your magic."

She pulled out her brush and powder and gently dusted it across the plastic. A set of prints materialized on the bag and she used strips of tape to carefully removed them.

"I didn't expect you to find so many fingerprints on such a small bag," Jones commented.

Abbie nodded, let's hope Alex will confirm that at least some of these prints belong to Susan."

They sent the fingerprints over to Alex as they drove the rest of the way to visit Rachel and return her voice recorder. Abbie handed the handheld machin to the reporter who snatchined it quickly from her hands.

"Here you go, Rachel. We found your digital recorder," Abbie laughed as the woman was already checking it for damage.

"However . . ." Jones cut in, "if you want it back, you must promise not to go back to the construction site again."

"But what about my article?!" Rachel cried.

"Gail's death has already been solved, and you know Detective Abbie's never wrong," he glared, "let the matter drop, for your own sake."

"Oh I guess you're right. I've got bigger fishes to fry anyway,"" she smirked, "well, Abbie, I'm very grateful for everything you have done for me. How can I thank you? Are you hungry? I know a very good diner nearby: their burgers are delicious!"

"It's been awhile since I've had a burger!" he beamed, "what do you think, Abbie, are you up for it?"

"For food? Yes!" Abbie laughed.

They all walked down to the diner where Rachel bought them all lunch. They chatted for awhile while they ate and once they were finished, went their separate ways. Jones and Abbie drove across the district to see what Derek Molina wanted from them in the town square.

"Detective Abbie, someone stole my brand new prototype, my "B-Unit" mixing table MX-2000!" Derek exclaimed in a frenzy, "I have an appointment with my investor in one hour, I need it back!"

"Are you sure someone stole it?" Jones asked, "this is a very safe neighbourhood; it's all traders and businessmen!"

"Jones, you really don't know traders or businessmen," Abbie sighed shaking her head.

"Well, it's not there anymore, is it?" Derek waved his hand towards the bench he had been sitting at, "so yes, it was stolen!"

"How did it go missing?" Abbie inquired.

He blushed, "important meetings make me hungry. I just went to get a hotdog, just turned my back for ten seconds, and when I looked back, it was gone!"

"Calm down, Mr Molina," Jones advised, "stress makes us do funny things, and I bet your mixing table's still around here! We'll have a look right now."

Derek raked a hand through his hand and declared that he was going for a walk. He left the alone in the square and Abbie and Hunter took a look around. The square was wide but there wasn't very many hiding places, Hunter found a pile of scrap metal in the bushes behind the bench Derek had been sitting on when they arrived.

"This is it!" Abbie proclaimed pulling the pieces out.

"You actually think this pile of metal could be Derek's mixing table?!"

Jones asked, "look, even if it was, there's no way you can fix this! We'd better pretend we didn't find it at all . . ."

Abbie and Hunter trained their puppy dog eyes on him.

"Oh alright! Stop looking at me like that!" he gagged shielding his eyes from the cuteness, "I trust you, if anyone can put those pieces of metal back together, it's you, after all!"

She grinned in triumphant and got to work. The wires of the device had not gotten damaged when it broke, so she just had to slip them back into place and glue the console back together. She tested the knobs, stitches and buttons to make sure they worked and would stick.

"This is crazy!" Jones exclaimed scratching his head, "you've completely restored a mixing table in a snap!"

Abbie grinned from ear to ear, "I'm just that good."

"Let's not keep Derek waiting any longer and give him his precious prototype back!" he says as the CEO came around the corner.

"Mr Molina, we've got good news!" Jones called to the man, "Abbie found your prototype!"

"Thank God!" Derek sighed in relief, "you've just single-handedly saved one of my biggest contracts, Detective Abbie!"

"Abbie, it seems your reputation keeps on growing day after day!" Jones slapped his partner on the back.

"Thank you so much, for everything," he smiled, "if you ever need any help in the financial world, come see me!"

"We'll remember that," Abbie promised as her cellphone pinged, "sorry, but we have to go."

Her and Jones left Derek and got back into the squad car. Abbie checked her cellphone and saw that she had received a text from Alex

"It's from Alex," Abbie told Jones as she read what the tech expert sent,  _"so I had a look at the fingerprints you collected from the bag you found in the motel room. There's no doubt about it: Mrs Peck handled the bag, and you've got the fingerprint to prove it!"_

"Now she won't be able to say she had nothing to do with this! Let's go catch her!" Jones announced starting the engine.

When the got to the motel, they caught Susan at the entrance as she was about to drive off in her car. They got her out of the vehicle and presented her with the photo of the ecstasy pills.

"Game over, Susan," Jones informed, "we found a bag filled with ecstasy pills, and it's got your fingerprints all over it."

"Fuck!" Susan cursed, "these kids didn't listen to a word I said! I  _told_  them to take the bag with them. What a bunch of idiots!"

"Says the idiot who decided to deal again!" he shot back.

"Susan Peck, you're under arrest!" Abbie declared snapping the cuffs on the woman's wrists, "any word you say can and will be used against you in a court of law . . ."


	27. Deadly Game

"Abbie, we've just received a package addressed to you!" Chief King called as he deposited the package on her desk.

"Did you hear that, Abbs?!" Jones grinned cheekily, "people are sending us thank you gifts! I think I'm going to enjoy that!"

"You don't even know what it is," Abbie smirked opening her pocket knife with a click.

He bounced in his seat, "open it! Open it!"

She laughed as she dragged the blade through the tape. She stuck her fingers under the cardboard flap and snapped each one open. Tissue paper was neatly folded over the present and the unfolded to reveal what she had been sent. Abbie stared down at it and blinked.

"What is it?" King asked.

Abbie tipped the box to show them its contents.

"Oh dear God! This has nothing to do with a gift! THIS IS A FINGER!" Jones gagged turned green, "I can't bear to look at it . . . let's just send it to Nathan, let him deal with it!"

"Look, there's also a note in the box," Abbie says pulling it out after slipping on a pair of gloves, "that's just a preview. You'll find some more pieces from my victim at the homeless camp, next to the bridge."

"There is no victim without a killer," King declared standing up straighter, "Detective Abbie, you've got a new case!"

"Abbie, let's go to that camp straight away!" Jones yelled rushing to grab his keys, coat, scarf, gloves and hat.

"It isn't even snowing yet," Abbie teased only wearing her purple coat and a pair of gloves.

"Canadian," he glared with a smirk.

"American," she shot back.

"Go!" King ordered.

"Leaving!" they yelled back.

They ran down to the parking garage and lept into their car. Jones slammed on the xcelerator while Abbie flipped on the lights and sirens to get the other drivers out of their way. They reached their destination and get out of the car.

Since it was almost winter time, the residents had moved to a more sheltered location to avoid the impending weather. Abbie and Hunter got to work looking for clues while Jones roped off the scene. The Muslim Detective watches with the light of the fire that had been lit for anything that the killer could have left for them. She feels a tug to look at the roof of the hut and grabs a barrel to use as a step stool.

Abbie climbs up onto the roof and was glad she didn't weight much. She stared at what she had found. Another finger. This one was in plain sight, and seemed to be pointing to a locked, wooden box.

"Oh Allah, a second finger!" Abbie shouted over to Jones, "I guess it goes with the first finger that psycho sent to us . . ."

Jones stood up on his tiptoes, "and . . . am I crazy, or is the finger pointing to that box over there?!'

"That's the same idea I had," she agreed, "but it's got lock on it."

"Ah, of course, the box is locked. You know how much I hate when stuff is locked up, don't you, Abbs?" he asked, "it must be opened!"

They both looked over as Hunter began to bark loudly. The German Shepherd sat on guard by a small mound of freshly dug dirt.

"And look at this mound of dirt!" Jones exclaimed.

"It looks like someone's been digg recently," Abbie said as she worked on the box's lock.

"You're right, someone has been digging," he said pushing aside some dirt, "I'll have a closer look."

While Abbie worked on the box's lock, Jones and Hunter worked together to dig through the dirt. The male detective hit something solid and pulled out a small metal button, from a pair of jeans.

"Hey, partner!" Jones called, "whoever dug this hole in the homeless camp lost a button in the process! It's small, but I'm sure you'll be able to find something useful on it, won't you?"

"Yup! Catch!" Abbie says dropping the wooden box.

He caught it easily and looked inside, "I knew I could count on you to open this box! I'm sure it wasn't left in the homeless camp by accident!"

"Check what's inside!" she ordered climbing down to go look at the button.

"Another letter? And there's a key, too!" he grinned pulling out the note, "wait I don't get it. This paper's blank, there's nothing written on it!"

She smirked, "I thought you would say that, there are impressions of writing on the note."

He squinted, "you're right. The killer must be playing with us again! But I'm sure you'll be able to discover what's written on this paper!"

She laughed, "one thing at a time. I only have two hands."

She picked up the button and started looking it over for anything the person who lost it could have left behind. She found a small spot along the egd with a slight discolouration of the metal, she swapped some DNA off of with and bagged the new evidence.

"Abbie, I can't believe that you managed to find DNA on a button!" Jones laughed, "after all this time, you still manage to surprise me!"

"Let's send it to Alex," Abbie says grabbing the button and finger.

"I can't wait to know who lost that button in the homeless camp!" he grinned.

"Well I can't wait to find out what this key goes to," she says holding out her hand, "paper please."

He gave her the slip and took the bag of DNA and button from her. Abbie grabbed her brush and fanned the carbon powder along the imprints of the letters. She blew away the extra dust to see what it said.

"You did it! The paper we found on the box was blank, and yet you managed to reveal the invisible message that was on it!" Jones praised, "what's it say?"

Abbie cleared her throat, "the note says: "Well done, Detective Abbie, you found my note! Another piece of puzzle is waiting for you at 278 Kennedy Road."

"I'm guessing the key that was with the note must open a door at that address," he suggested grabbing the metal key, "let's go check it out, Abbie!"

They typed in the address to their squad car's GPS and let it guide them to the location the killer wanted them to visit. They found themselves driving down a ghost street along the back end of the Financial Center. A brick building with the number 278 plated on the side of the door came into view. They parked in front of the allyway and walked up to the door.

"Here we are. 278 Kennedy Road," Jones said looking around, "that's the address the killer gave us in the note."

"Let's see if the key that came with it opens the door . . ." Abbie replied raising the key to the lock. She twisted it and the bolt turned with a thunk. They entered the building with their guns drawn and took a look around.

"The key did open the door," Jones whispered fallowing behind his partner.

The small entry way had only a stairwell off to the side leading down to what they assumed to be a basement. They walked down with their flashlights lighting the way and felt around the wall for the light switch. Abbie found it and clicked it on.

"Oh my . . ." Abbie breathed her gun falling to her side.

"For Pete's sake, what  _is_  this place?!" Jones yelped looking around.

The room looked like it had come straight out of a Saw movie, with a extra touch of psycho. There were cages, a wooden chair with straps, tables covered in assorted torture tools, and a pit of burning coals.

"I don't know," Abbie wrinkled her nose, "but I do know that this is a finger."

"Yuck!" Jones gagged, "I guess that's our victim's third finger! But this one is in a jar, like jam! Let's send this to the lab for analysis."

 _"Arf!"_  Hunter yipped grabbing their attention. The K-9 was sitting next to a leather collar with silver studs and a chain leash attached to it.

"We need to know who came in this room," Jones gulped picking up the collar, "this . . . leash . . . might help us, but I can't read what's engraved on it. Could you have a look?"

"I'm worried about what I may find . . ." Abbie muttered but took the collar nonetheless.

She looked around the inside of the leather collar and ran her finger along it until she felt a light indentation of letters. The words had been scratched up from repeated actions against them. She pieced together the letters that the marks made up and found what the inscription read.

"Property of: Jezabela," she read.

"Y'know, I've heard a certain Jezabela owns a fetish club in town," he thought about it, "the rumor says that she hosts animated torture parties."

Abbie opened her mouth but Jones cut her off, " please don't ask me how I know that. We'll... discuss it another day. It's a lead, isn't that what matters?!"

"Oh, it's a lead alright . . ." she smirked.

"Anyway!" he tug at his scarf, "I believe that a little talk with this Jezabela is in order, don't you?"

"Just tell me the address," she laughed running out of his reach.

They found the fetish club just a few streets over in the back room of a . . . adult pleasure store. Even though the sign said that they were closed for the day, the door was unlocked so the detectives let themselves inside. They found the owner, a voluptuous woman named Jezabela who wore a leather dress and high boots with fishnet stockings.

"Jezabela, can you explain to Detective Abbie how your leash ended up in a torture room connected to a criminal investigation?" Jones asked holding up the item.

 _"Mistress_  Jezabela, if you please," she insisted, "I have no idea what you're talking about. I own a club for adults who enjoy a little domination, but they are not murderers. As for the necklace, it's quite obviously not mine."

"Come on! "Property of Jezabela" is written on it, clear as day!" he pointed to the scratched up ID tag.

"Which means it belongs to my devoted vassal, Cherry Doll," she explained as if he were incompetent, " _she_  is my property, not the leash!"

He blushed, ". . . oh."

"Is Cherry Doll her real name?" Abbie inquired.

Jezabela shook her head, "no legally, I guess to you, Cherry would be Harper McAlister. I'm warning you though, the girl might seem . . . a little bit disturbed."

"Thank you for the forewarning," she replied, "we'll leave you to you . . . work."

They left the adult store as fast as they could before Jezabela insisted on demonstrating her skills for them. They climbed into the car and Abbie looked up Happer McAlister's contact information and ask her to come to the station.

"She says she'll be there shortly," Abbie says pocketing her phone.

"If this Harper McAlister was the one wearing the leash," Jones shuddered, "it means she went to the torture room!"

"Well, let's go see what she has to say, and find out anything about those fingers," she replied as he started the engine.

When they got to the station, they asked Ramirez to bring Haper to the interrogation room while they ran the new fingers and DNA from the button up to Grace and Alex. once the samples where getting analyzed, they returned to the woman and set the leash down on the table.

"Miss McAlister, or should I say Cherry Doll?" Abbie asked politely, "I believe this... this necklace belongs to you?"

"Oh you found it! I was really scared of Mistress Jezabela finding out I'd lost it. She wouldn't be pleased at all," Harper thanked them and took the leash back, "I lost the leash a week ago. I thought I left it at the psychiatric hospital."

"Psychiatric hospital?" she raised an eyebrow, "what were you there for?"

"Oh nothing really. They say I have psychotic disorders just because I couldn't resist biting that young doctor that time . . ." she pouted, "but I'm better now! I only go there twice a week!"

"Well, thank you for your time," Jones smiled fearfully as he ushered Harper out of the room, "if we need anything else, we'll be sure to call you."

He directed the young woman out of the station and whipped the sweat from his brow as he came back into the office space.

He whistled, "damn! I understand what Jezabela meant now. Harper freaked me out so badly that I forgot to ask her about the murder!"

"I noticed," Abbie rolled her eyes, Hunter wagged her tail in agreement.

"On the other hand, I doubt we could get a coherent answer out of her . ." he muttered, "we'll try again later. I just hope she won't bite!  _Ow!!"_

Nathan, who had just entered the room unnoticed, snuck up behind the older man and dug his nails into his collar bone. Not enough to draw blood, but with enough force to break some skin.

"Bad Nathan!" Jones glared slapping the coroner's hand away.

"Hehe," he giggled, "oh don't get you tie in a knot, you know I could do much worse."

He mumbled a few choice words under his breath, "now I know where Avi got his teething from."

"Actually, that's more his father than me," he smiled sadly, "but, back to the matter at hand. Abbie, you sure get weird gifts in the mail!"

Abbie laughed, "you're telling me! But catching this psychopath will be a better gift."

"I had a look at the finger. The tissues show that it was cut while the victim was still alive. Whoever this finger belongs to, they didn't die an easy death," he explained, "I also found grains of caviar, on the finger and under the nail."

"Uh . . ." Jones looked confused, "was eating caviar part of the torture?"

"In a way," he hummed picking at his own fingernails, "the killer must have used the finger as a caviar spoon."

He looked like he was going to vomit, ". . . Abbie, next time I ask Nathan for details, please tell me to just shut up."

"Noted," Abbie promised, "at least now we know that our killer eats caviar."

"I just wish I didn't know why we know it," he grumbled going to make a cup of coffee. He poured in extra cream and sugar to give it an extra kick.

Alex came into the room and snatched the cup out of the detective's hand.

"Thanks!" Alex grinned cheekily as he took a sip, "just the way I like it!"

"Hey!" Jones yelled, "that was mine!"

"You can make another one," Abbie told him, "did you find out who the DNA belongs to, Lex?"

"I had a look at the DNA you found on the button left at the homeless camp," he took another sip of coffee, "I ran the DNA in our database, and the guy you're looking for is a certain Lennie Adams."

"Why was his DNA on file?" she inquired.

"The reason he's in our files is because he just did 3 years in prison for the torture and sequestration of his wife," he explained downcast.

"Lovely fellow!" Jones scoffed, "exactly the kind who might enjoy cutting up fingers, don't you think, Abbs?"

"Shouldn't be to hard to find," she says finding his file on her computer.

"Since he's free now, we should definitely go have a chat with this Lennie."

"While you're tracking the man down, I have some good news," Grace announced as she joined the team, "I did a quick DNA comparison between the finger you received and the finger you found in the torture room. They both belong to the same person, no doubt about it."

"Well we guess that much," Abbie said hanging up with a patrol cop, "Lennie's being brought in now."

"So did I," she agreed, "so I had a look at the contents of the jar the finger was in. And I'm happy to announce that the liquid inside it is formol. Which is widely used by experts to preserve organic tissues."

"Which means our killer uses formol! And found out in a much nicer way than the caviar," Jones teased, "thanks, Grace."

"Can I have those fingers now?" Nathan asked, "I need to get the rest of the fingerprints for Alex."

"Sure," Grace responded, "there just in my lab."

While the rest of the lab team left, the patrol officer Abbie had been talking to brough Lennie Adams in for them. Jones and Abbie guided the ma into their interrogation room and sat him in the hard, plastic chair.

"Mr. Adams, Detective Abbie was wondering how your button may have ended in the same place we found a human finger . . ." Jones questioned the criminal, "care to enlighten us?"

"A finger! Dude, relax!" Lennie cried, "how the hell would I know?!"

"We know about your little prison-stint, Lennie. Torturing people is right up your alley, isn't it?" he growled.

"I didn't torture my wife! I just wanted to protect her! People got it all wrong!" he shot back.

"I'm sure they did," Abbie said skeptically, "so, why did you dig in the homeless camp? What were you trying to find . . . or to hide?"

Lennie caved, "oh alright. Look, a cellmate in prison told me about some gold bars buried in that camp. I'm broke, I just wanted to take my share, that's all!"

"Your share?" she repeated, "I think your cell mate might have lied to you, and for now the camp is closed per this investigation. So please stay away until we reopen it."

Lennie grumbled but left the station promising not to go near the camp until they allowed him to. Abbie and Jones returned to their desks to go over what they had learn. Alex was waiting for them with a file in his hand.

"There you are!" Alex said as they came in, "I've got good news! I finally found the victim's name! Nathan gave me the 3 fingers you collected, and I ran the fingerprints into our database."

"So who did they belong to?" Abbie inquired.

"The fingerprints all matched the same person.Abbie, your victim's name is Steve Wood," he says handing her the file, "Steve was a trader who got sent to prison for misappropriation. When he came out, he basically didn't get a life to go back to, and he ended up living in that homeless camp."

"Sorry to interrupt, Abbie!" Ramirez gasped as he ran into the room holding a white envelope, "but a new letter was just dropped in our mailbox!"

Abbie took the envelope after slipping on a pair of gloves. Jones caught her wrist before she could rip it open.

"Wait, Abbs, are you sure you want to open it?" he asked, "whoever killed Steve Wood is clearly capable of anything. Who knows what's in this envelope! We've already received a finger, and we found two others in various places. What's if it's even worse this time?"

"Jones," she held up the paper thine letter, "do you really think the killer could have put more than some strands of hair in this envelope?"

". . . Of course, you're right," he gulped down the rest of his coffee, "I know we must stay strong. We've got a killer on catch, and a victim to find. Let's open it then."

Abbie ripped the letter's seal open and pulled out the short piece of paper inside addressed to her.

"The letter says: "You were so close, Detective Abbie. I'll give you another hint: go to this address. You may find something. Or not."

"Oooh, I hate being toyed with. Let's go there and bust this maniac, Abbie!" he declared snatching the letter out of her hands to read the address.

They hurried over to the condo building the killed had directed them to. They flew up the four flights of stairs to the top floor and ran along the balcony until they found they correct door.

"Alright, this is the address the killer gave us," Jones panted trying the doorknob, "the door was even left open this time!"

Abbie looked around, "there's no name on the mailbox, and nobody's in there. I guess we'd better have a look around."

They entered the loft with their guns drawn incase someone was hiding inside. Hunter sniffed around the room but couldn't pick up a distinct smell belong to one person. Jones guarded the entrance while Abbie walked further into the space. She opened the door to the bathroom and found a small medicine cabinet bolted to the wall.

"Strange," Jones mutter walking further into the room, "I thought for sure the latest note would lead to another body part, but there's nothing!"

"Well when it comes to hiding things, a medicine cabinet would be the last place to look for body parts," Abbie said opening the cover.

She shifted around the pill bottles and boxes of bandages and pain relief medication until she found a strange bottle with a faded label that looked out of place among the medical supplies.

"The bottle you found in the medicine cabinet doesn't look like any prescription bottle I've ever seen!" Jones remarked as she set it on the counter, "the label is faded out. Can you decipher it, Abbs?"

She nodded and began tracing her finger over the faded letters of the bottle's label. Slowly the words began to form as the letters came together as she read.

"Formol? Exactly like what our killer used to preserve our victim's finger!" she gasped.

"We need to figure out who lives here.," Jones looked around, ". . . but how?"

"What are you people doing in my loft?!" a blonde man in a suite yelled brandishing his briefcase like a club, "I'm calling the police!"

"There's no need, Sir. We are the police," he imforemned as they showed him their badges, "and Detective Abbie would like to ask you a few questions."

"Mr?" Abbie questioned.

"McAlister, Tyler McAlister," Tyler answered placing his briefcase on the floor.

"Mr McAlister . . . wait a second," Jones thought for a second, "are you related to Harper McAlister?"

"Ah, I see you've met my sibling. I hope you didn't get bitten, Detective," he smirked.

"We haven't . . . yet," he responded.

Abbie step forward, "an anonymous letter led us to your loft and I would li-"

Tyler cut her off, "i'm sorry but I hardly find this surprising. With Harper living here, mystique notes are a dime a dozen these days."

"Considering the fact that the notes have led us to various body parts, you'll allow us to take your word for it!" he narrowed her eyes, "where were you last night?"

"Last night?" he hummed, "I was right here, quietly celebrating my yearly bonus with a little Champagne and caviar. Alone."

"Celebrating your bonus . . ." Jones rolled his eyes and whispered to his partner, "with all of this, I almost forgot that we were in the Financial Area, Abbie!"

"Yes, and you seem to have also forgotten that you are in my house," Tyler piped up, "now please, get out!"

He shooed the detectives and dog out of his loft and locked the door behind them. They heard the bolt sliding into place as the wind whistled around them.

"So Harper is Tyler's sister," Jones commented, "I don't believe in coincidences, do you? It's time we talked to her again!"

" And if Harper lives here, it also means both her and her brother may have used that bottle of formol we found in their medicine cabinet," Abbie added, "let's write it down!"

"Wait!" he exclaimed, "we need to talk to this Harper again, but I also think we should go back to the torture room ASAP and go over it with a fine-tooth-comb. What do you want to do first?"

"We should got to the torture room again before the killer takes any evidence from it," she replied, "I'll call Harper back to the station on the way there."

He nodded and they made their way down the stair to get to work. When they got to the torture room, they didn't see anything different since the first time they looked around. The three walked around the room and Hunter found another jar of formol with a finger floating in it sitting in between a caviar spoon and a book with a torn off cover. Abbie meanwhile was intrigued with an iron maiden in the back corner of the room furthest from the entrance.

"If I'm counting right, we've just found the fourth finger . . ." Jones said counting on his own fingers, "Abbie, you'll have to look at it without me. I don't think I can stand much more of this. Let's just get out of here as quickly as possible, okay?"

"Just a second," Abbie says as she looked at the iron maiden, "there's something off about this . . ."

Abbie gasped as she got an idea, "This thing can go straight to the lab!"

Jones looked confused but didn't argue with her, "alright, and we can also go back to the station to try and put this torn book cover back together. Same thing for this caviar spoon. I'm sure you'll be able to find fingerprints on it . . . back at the station!"

"How did you know it was a caviar spoon?" she wondered as she bagged the items.

"How do I know this is a caviar spoon?" he repeated the question as he called in help to move the iron maiden, "well, I did a dishwashing in a posh restaurant, when I was a student. Aaah, those were the days!"

Once some people had came and gotten the iron maiden for them to bring to the station, the detectives lead them back to the office and ordered them to bring it to Nathan quickly. Meanwhile they headed up to their office and Abbie dusted the spoon for fingerprints.

"Good job!" Jones praised, "let's compare these fingerprints with our database to figure out who left this caviar spoon in the torture room!"

They ran a scan of the fingerprints against their current suspect line up and managed to find a match in under ten seconds.

"The fingerprints on the caviar spoon belong to Jezabela!" Abbie announced staring at the woman's picture, "which means she has been to the torture room."

"You're right Abbie," Jones agreed, "let's go talk to her again!"

"But first, this jar . . ." she whispered as she pulled out a bundle of hairs from the side of the jar.

"I can't believe you managed to find so much as a hair in this jar," he shook his head, "but I'm sure Grace will do wonders with it!"

"You want to run them over to her while I tape this book cover back together?"

"Sure."

While Jones brought the hair sample to Grace for analyses, Abbie reached into her desk drawer and pulled out her tape dispenser. She went along the edge and taped the pieces back until she had rapier the gruesome cover.

"The Human Burger Theory" . . . charming," Abbie remarked as she read the title above the picture of Kronos eating his son, which one, she couldn't tell.

"That book caused a scandal a few months ago!" Jones informed as he came back into the room, "it's about torture and cannibalism and contains some disturbing details. Nelson Campbell, the anthropologist who wrote it, has always denied having tested out the practice."

"Well, if our killer is a fan of this genre, I think it warrants a talk with the man who rights it," she replied setting the book down.

"Abbie," Ramirez caught the woman's attention, "Harper McAlister is here."

"Thanks, Ramirez," she smiled, "could you also get Nelson Campbell and Jezabela to come in for an interview?"

"Sure!" he answered heading to his desk.

Jones and Abbie walked down the short hallway to the interrogation room where Harper was waiting for them. They found the woman sitting on the table still trying to fix her collar around her neck.

"Detective Abbie!" Harper beamed once her eyes landed on the other woman, "I didn't expect to see you again so soon! Did you find something else of mine?"

"Not exactly. Harper," Abbie replied, "I would like to know where you were last night."

"Oh, I think I went for a walk. I like the city at night, it calms me down," she sighed dreamily, "Then I came back and saw my naughty selfish brother had partied without me. He always does that, it's so annoying! But I got my revenge. I ate aaaall the caviar he had left! I like how the grains go "pop!" against your palate, don't you?"

"They do have quite the distinctive texture to them," she laughed, "I won't keep you here any longer, Harper. Would you like one of my coworkers to bring you home?"

She hopped off the table, "nope! My therapist says it's better if I walk, ta clear my head! Bye bye!"

They watched the young woman skip away and down the hall. A few moments later Jezabla entered in her place.

"Was that Cherry Doll I just saw?" Jezabela purred.

"Yes, it was," Abbie answered.

"Jezab- Mistress Jezabela, do you recognize this spoon?" Jones asked holding it up, "we found it in the torture room, the one you said you'd never gone to."

"Alright, I did go to that so-called torture room, but it was ages ago. I wanted to rent it for some of my most... special... events," she explained tapping her fingers on her whip, "as for the caviar spoon, of course I recognize it. We use them in our "Caviar goes too far" parties!"

"You sound like you enjoy these parties," Abbie commented.

She smiled seductively, "they're my favorite nights because they combine two things I love the most. And one of them is caviar.

"What's the other?" Jones inquired.

"Are you sure you want to know?" Jezabela smirked.

He blushed, ". . . Right. Thanks for sparing us the details, Mistress Jezabela. Abbie, I think we have enough, don't you?"

"Yes," Abbie agreed, "thank you for coming, Jezabela."

Jezabela left the room and the detectives waited a few minutes before Ramirez brought Nelson Campbell in fro them. Abbie placed the man's book on the table.

"It's always a pleasure to see people interested in my research, Detective Abbie," Nelson said pleased, "what would you like to know, exactly?"

"Actually, we found of your book in a place where we suspect a man was tortured and killed," Abbie informed him.

"Considering the controversy around your book . . ." Jones added.

"That "controversy" is preposterous," he scoffed, "my book brought me fame and fortune: I get invited everywhere, I eat caviar every night . . . People get jealous!"

"Then how did you write such an, accurate book?" Abbie asked.

Nelson glared, "I did not need to torture or eat people to write a best-seller, Detective. And until you have some actual proof of my involvement in this sordid affair, I'll ask you to back off."

The detectives let Nelson storm out of the room and followed him out to the elevator. He shot them one last glare before the elevator doors slid closed with a thud. Jones and Abbie returned to their desks where they found Grace and Nathan waiting for them one the couch.

"You first," Nathan told Grace.

"Why thank you," Grace replied, "so I analyzed the hairs you found in the jar containing the fourth finger. I did a microscopic comparison with hairs taken from the fingers, and they do not match. Which means that these hairs belong to your killer!"

"So what did you find out about them?" Abbie inquired.

"The first thing I can tell you is that your killer has blond hair," she answered, "but that's not all. I used gas chromatography to analyze them. And I found a huge dose of sleeping pills in them."

"Which means our killer takes sleeping pills!" Jones finished with a smile, :not surprising, considering what they do . . ."

"What about you, Nathan?" Abbie asked the ME.

"I analyzed the iron maiden you found in the torture room," Nathan started.

"Oh so that's how that thing's called?" Jones interrupted.

"For your information Jones," he smirked, "an iron maiden is an old torture instrument. When a person is locked into it, the peaks that line the inside of the doors run through them and drain them of their blood."

"Like butchers do to tenderize the meat, you mean?" he asked.

"Exactly like that. I was able to find some blood on the peaks that matches to your victim's," he informed handing them his report, "the iron maiden is definitely your murder weapon."

Que Ramirez barreling into the room again.

"Abbie!" Ramirez wheezed, "I was looking for you, a-"

"Let me guess," Abbie cut him off, "we got another letter."

". . . How did you guess?!" he gasped holding up the letter, "here you go, Abbie, the letter's addressed to you."

"Abbie," Chief King called as he rushed into the room before she could open the envelope, "I've heard you just received yet another letter!"

"Yes, Alab," Abbie responded.

"I thought by now you'd captured the psychopath who tortured and killed Steve Wood!" he yelled, "who is leading the case, you or the killer?"

"We are, Chief!" Jones assured, "this is the letter we needed to make a breakthrough, I'm sure of it!"

Abbie opened the letter and began to read, "let's see... "Am I too smart for you? I am feeling noble and will give you a hint: go back to the homeless camp. Your novice eyes surely missed something crucial."

"Novice eyes"?!"  he cried flabbergasted, "how dare they insult you like that, Abbie! After all the cases you've solved! But we'll show them, I know you will! Let's go straight to the homeless camp!"

Abbie dropped the killer's most recent letter on her desk next to the other notes from the psychopath. Then her and Hunter followed after Jones to the car and they rushed over to the homeless camp. When they got there Abbie quickly headed to the rusted old car and found a jar in the back seat.

"The note was accurate, here's our victim's fifth finger!" Abbie proclaimed holding it up, "we've got the complete hand back now!"

"High five, Abbie!" Jones laughed holding up his hand, she gave him a concerned look, "i'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh, it's just nerves. Just... just give me a second, Abbs."

While he took a quick walk around the edge of the camp, Abbie set the jar down on the hood of the car and continued searching. When she did, she found a torn card stuck under the windshield wiper blade. She pulled it out as Hunter came running over with a pill bottle in her mouth.

"Okay, I'm good," Jones says as he returned, "so you found a torn card, did you? We'd better put it back together!"

"And we've got pills," Abbie said as she took the bottle from the dog's mouth, "but the name of the owner is illegible."

She set the bottle on the hood of the car next to the jared finger and worked on tapping the card back together.

"The business card belongs to Nelson Campbell," she told her partner, "I think we should go talk to him again."

"What about the pill bottle?" he asked.

Abbie grabbed the bottle and looked at the smudged label. The water had gotten to it but not enough to fulll distort the words. She managed to find out that it was a bottle of sleeping pills prescribed to an Adams, but the first name was beyond help.

"The sleeping pills have been prescribed to an Adams," Abbie said bagging the items, "say . . . isn't that Lennie's last name?"

"You're right, that's Lennie's last name!" Jones confirmed, "you know . . . Lennie just came out of jail. And our victim spent quite some time behind bars, too. What are the odds those two might have met?"

"Well, between that and the sleeping pills," she says, "we definitely need to talk to Lennie again!"

They went to Nelson's home first to see what the man had to say about his card being found on the crime scene. They knocked twice on the door and a minute later it was opened by the middle aged man.

"Mr Campbell, not only did we find your book where the victim tortured," Jones started, "but now we've also found your business card in the homeless camp where he died!"

"You'll admit it's starting to get suspicious . . ." Abbie chimed in showing him the card.

"You're still harping on about that!" Nelson spat, "I recognize that card. I gave it to a trader, I think his name was McAlister. See, I handwrote my private phone number, right here."

"What do you remember about that man?" she inquired.

"Mr McAlister, obviously a man of great taste," he responded fondly, "was very interested in my book and wanted some more details."

"And did he call you?" Jones asked.

"I don't know. I'm a very busy man," Nelson shrugged, "I get invited to lots of places. I can't always pick up my phone."

"Thank you for the information, Mr. Campbell," Abbie smiled.

The man closed the door leaving the detectives along in the cold wind.

"So, according to Nelson," Abbie says as they walked back to their car, "Tyler is the one who dropped this card on the crime scene."

"And he's interested in books about torture . . ." Jones added, "good to know! Let's talk to him again!"

Since Tyler's condo was on the way to the homeless center where Lennie had been staying since his relish, they dropped in on the stock trader first.

"Mr McAlister," Jones greeted the man once the door was opened, "we didn't know you liked reading books about torture . . ."

"I don't really care about them. It just happens that my company manages Mr Campbell's portfolio - you know he made quite a fortune with that book," Tyler lectured them, "and since my sister is a fan, I thought it might as well help her get in touch with the author."

"And how do you explain the fact we found the business card Nelson gave you on our crime scene?" Abbie questioned.

"I'd say that it must dropped out of my pocket. I often use this road: the hoboes are too drunk to be dangerous," he smirked when he saw their anger flare, "and it's a significant shortcut to my sport's club."

"So Harper McAlister reads that book too," Jones whispered to Abbie, "considering how disturbed the girl already is, this can't lead to anything good!"

"In any case, they're both getting more suspicious by the minute!" Abbie replied, "we should have another look at their loft!"

He nodded, "Mr. McAlister, we would like to have another look around your loft, may we?"

Tyler opened the door wider, "help yourselves, I have an important meeting to attend to, lock the door on your way out."

He grabbed his coat and briefcase then walked down the balcony and out of sight. Jones and Abbie let themselves indie and took a closer look around the open space. The place was spotless save for some books and paper spread out on the counter in the kitchen, but Hunter did pick up on a faint smell coming from an empty glass on the coffee table.

"A dirty glass," Jones remarked as Abbie picked it up and placed it in a bag, "I'm glad to see this investigation isn't all about cut-off body parts! Let's send this to the lab!"

After they had dropped the glass of with Grace at the forensics lab, they drove over to the Lillian Hope center where Lennie Adames was staying. A volunteer worker directed them to the room where the suspect was staying in and they thank her before walked down the hall.

"Mr Adams we found your bottle of pills in the homeless camp," Abbie says giving the bottle back to the man, "how long have you been taking sleeping pills?"

"I've had a hard time sleeping ever since I got out of the joint. Weird, uh?" Lennie snorted, "I didn't expect to miss the prisoners screaming all night long."

"Talking about jail . . ." Jones brought the conversation back, "did you ever meet a certain Steve Wood during your time in prison?"

"Well duh!" he rolled his eyes, "that bastard was my cellmate. He ratted my little drug-traffic out just to get his sentence shortened!"

The detectives exchanged looks.

"Uh, that doesn't mean I killed him," Lennie added seen their faces, "don't get me wrong! If I wanted to do Steve in, I'd have done it in prison, not now that I just came out!"

"I believe you, Lennie," Abbie assured the man, "but I also believe in evidence, and if it say you're guilty, then you can be sure we'll be back to take you away."

They left Lennie alone and returned to the station to see what Grace had found.

"The dirty glass you found in the loft was a nice distraction from all those fingers you've bringing to me," Grace chuckled, "I have to say."

"You and me both!" Abbie laughed.

"So what could you find?" Jones asked.

"I used a diffraction method to examine the cristals that were still inside the glass, and finally struck gold," she smiled, "the cristals contained actives used in sleeping pills."

"Sleeping pills?!" he gasped, "i'm ready to bet Harper's the one taking them! Let's go ask her!"

They called Harper back into the station and set her down at a chair by their desks.

"Harper, are you taking pills?" Abbie asked.

"I take sometimes. The stupid psychiatrists at the hospital prescribed them to me to "help me calm down at night"," Harper put air quotes around the last sentence, "i'll never understand why they categorize you as "unstable", just because you need to stand naked on your balcony and scream before going to bed."

"Is that all?" she coughed.

"And okay, so I did stab my cousin in the hand with a fork once, but he had been looking for trouble for a while!" she defended, "my brother takes some too, y'know? I don't know why, I don't think he wants to scream or hit stuff . . . Maybe they make him happy!"

They thanked Herper for coming in and as she was leaving the room, Ramirez ran inside almost knocking her over in the process.

"Sorry!" Ramirez squeaked, "Abbie, th-

"Just give us the envelope, Ramirez," Jones sighed. Abbie took the letter and ripped it open to read.

"What does it say . . ." Abbie's eyes danced across the words, "You poor officers are struggling so much. If I had one, my heart would be breaking right now . . . As a token of good will, I have a little present for you. It's waiting for you in the torture room."

"A... present?" Jones gulped, "I really don't think I want to see what that present is, Abbs . . ."

"Sometimes I'm really glad I'm not on the field," Ramirez adjusted his hat, "I'd be scared too!"

"Scared? Nobody's scared!" he yelled, "let's go to the torture room!"

The detectives hurried back over to the torture room for what they hope to be the last time. They ran inside and stopped in the entrance way. It wasn't hard to spot the dead body lying in a crate with his face a mask of horror and his arm hanging over the side of the box.

"Abbie, this must be our victim's body!!" Jones gagged looking at all the holes in the body, "but . . . this means the killer actually came back here to drop it off! The nerve!!"

"Let's just get the body to Nathan," Abbie says, "hopefully he will find the last piece of evidence we need to arrest this psycho!"

""I can't believe that after all we still have to wait for the autopsy results!" he grumbled, "the sooner we send it to Nathan, the better!"

_One autopsy later . . ._

"You finally brought me a body!" nathan applauded as his teammates entered the morgue, "I was starting to think I'd never got one."

"So did we!" Abbie laughed, "I can't wait to know what happened!"

"Tell us everything!!" Jones demanded.

"As you already know, all the fingers of his left hand have been cut, but that is not all that was missing," he pointed to the victim's mid-section, "his liver has also been ripped out!"

"Abbie," Jones groaned, "I'm not feeling so well . . ."

"The next news will cheer you up," he promised tossing the detective a bottle of nausea pills, I found some fibers on the victim's wrist. Your killer tied his hands up, and he didn't do it with a simple rope, but with a silk tie."

"Which means that this psychopath wears a tie!" Abbie grinned, "thanks, Nathan!"

"There's not a minute to lose," Jones swallowed a couple pills, "let's put that sadist in jail!

They drove over to the loft apartments and ran up to the top floor. They kicked in the door and searched the loft but found no signs of their killer. They both silently agreed on where he must have gone and rushed over to the torture room as fast as they could. They walked casualty to the basement with their guns drawn and Jones kicked the door in.

"Tyler wasn't in his loft, he must be in here! But I can't see anything!" Jones whispered, "Abbie, could you turn the lights on, please?"

Abbie hit the switch and they found Tyler siggin calmly in a chair under the barred window.

"BOO!" Tyler boomed.

"HAAAAA!!!!!" JOnes cried clutching his beating heart, "he scared me half to death!! Quick, put the cuffs on him!"

Abbie ran over and snapped the cuffs on before the man could blink, "Mr McAlister, you're under arrest for the torture and murder of Steve Wood!"

"You took your time to get me, Detective Abbie! But both the murder and our little game were as thrilling as I expected it!" he cackled, "it was brilliant to choose a tramp that nobody will look for, wasn't it? I just had to make him believe that I would help him. So easy."

"You're . . . you're nuts!" Jones yelled at him, ". . . what did you do with the liver?"

"Haha, so you did not guess . . ." Tyler smiled and licked his lips, "there is nothing like human liver to enhance the taste of caviar . . ."

He paled, "oh dear  _god!_  This maniac  _ate_  it! Please Abbie, just take him away!"

_In the CourtRoom . . ._

"I thought I have seen every perversion the human beings was capable of," Judge Hall looked sick as the trial came to a close, "but you, Mr Mc Alister, have managed to horrify this court anew with the murder of Steve Wood."

"Did you enjoy it as much as I did?" Tyler asked with a sigh, "I finally felt something, something that even the hardest drug never gave me: the biggest thrill in my life."

"Oh my poor brother, they say you're a monster, but I know how you feel," Hyper nodded calling to her twin, "they'll never break you. They'll never break us!"

"That's probably because there's nothing left to break . . ." Jones muttered to his teammates.

Judge Hall banged her gavel loudly, "enough! Mr McAlister, for the murder and torture of Steve Wood, this court sentences you to a life-time sentence with no chance of parole."

"Well done, guys," Alex congratulated, "I gotta admit that I'm glad this case is over. The man turned my blood into ice!"

"I don't know for you," Ramirez shook with fear, "but I'm not looking forward to open the next gift people will send to us!"

"You have proven that no case is too difficult or too traumatizing your skills. Amazing job once again!" Chief King praised his detectives, "for your follow-up, I want you to check up on Ms McAlister. I understand the girl is highly unstable, and with her brother in prison . . . well let's avoid an accident.

"Of course," Abbie says, "but let's give her an hour or fso to cool down from the trial."

"Agreed, "he nodded, "as for this Lennie Adams who lives in the homeless camp . . . just check that the death of his ex-cellmate didn't give him any ideas, alright?"

"Got it chief! Abbie, let's go!" Jones ordered standing up, once they were out of the team's hearing he continued, "can we also drop by the torture room? Jezabela just bought the place for her club, and she requested my help with something."

"She asked for your help with something?" she cocked an eyebrow, "I'm beginning to think their something you're hiding, mr."

A blush dusted his cheeks, "no . . . let's just go see Lennie, alright?"

They left the courthouse and headed back over to the hope center. When they got there they were informed that Lennie had left for the evening but had mentioned something about going to the homeless camp. Jones steered the car over town until they reached the location where they found the ex-prisoner digging around the ground.

"Look," lennie growled once he saw them draw near, "I won't pretend I'm sorry that rat died, but I'm not looking for trouble anymore! I just want to get my life back together! If only I hadn't lost my grandfather's watch, I could pawn it, I could get my driver's license, buy a second hand car and get away from this wretched town!"

"Well . . ." Jones looked to his partner for permission, "maybe Detective Abbie can help you with that. What was the watch like?"

"It's a Balgari SN-7, an old collector's watch," he responded dusting off his jeans, "but it's probably stolen by now, y'now. Things of value never lie around for long here."

"You underestimated Detective Abbie's skills and luck, Lennie," he smirked, "just wait for us here, we'll have a quick look around."

Lennie shrugged his shoulders and took a seat in the old car. Abbie took a look around the area that the man had yet to search and found a fresh mound of dirt piled up by the hut.

"Another pile of earth!" Jones laughed, "people around here sure enjoy digging around!"

"I want to have a look through it," Abbie said rolling up her sleeves and pulling on some rubber gloves.

"You impress me," he smirked, "you're always ready to stick your hand anywhere."

She dug through the fresh earth slightly soiled from the layer of frost that covered the ground. She pushed aside the rocks and dirt until a shiny object caught her attention. She pulled out a gold watch from the dirt and dusted it off.

"We'll I'll be . . ." Jones breathed, "first thing you look at, and you find a watch!"

"And it's a Balgari SN-7, collector watch," Abbie informed, "I've seen them before and there's a makers mark hidden in the face, you'll only find it if your know how to."

"And you do?" he asked.

"Evet," she nodded, "I used to study antiques and rare items when I was bored, I have a whole assortment of random facts in this head."

"Well, let's go give Lennie back his watch!"

They called Lennie over and Abbie handed him his grandfather's watch.

"Mr Adams, we've got good news!" Jones announced, "Detective Abbie found your grandfather's watch!"

"Really?" Lennie blinked as he looked the watch over, "I thought for sure I'd never see it again! Thanks, Detective Abbie. You really did me a favor, and not many people have done that before. Maybe there's finally a light at the end of the tunnel . . ."

"Maybe there is," Abbie smiled gently, "good luck, Lennie, and put this money to good use!"

They left Lennie Adams to ponder over his future and decided to check in with Herper. They figured she had gotten enough time to calm down since her brother's trial and would be in a reasonable enough state to talk to them.

"Hello Harper," Abbie greeted when the woman let them in, "how are you doing today?"

"Did I close the door? Did I give food to the dog? Do I have a dog?" Harper scratched her head as she paced around the room.

"I guess that answers my question," she cringed, "Harper, have you taken your pills today?"

She tapped her chin, "pills . . . pills . . . you're right! Where are my pills? Did I take them?"

"Alright, Abbie, we'd better help her find her pills," Jones sighed, "she's freaking me out. Let's search the loft!"

Jones guided Harper to her bedroom and managed to get her to lay down in bed while Abbie searched the living room. She couldn't find anything on the table our the bookcase, so she hopped on the couch and stuck her hands in between the couch cushions. She felt her fingers brush across something plastic and she pulled it out.

"Score!" she cheered.

"You found a pill bottle!" Jones grinned.

"But we'd better make sure these pills are the ones Harper needs," she says popping the cover off and shaking out a few into a small bag.

"Perfect. Let's take those pills to Grace, so she can tell us what they're for!" he grinned but cast a glance to the door, "I think I'd better stay here and keep an eye on Harper. Just . . . be quick, okay?"

Abbie nodded and ran out the door.

_One speedy pill analyses later . . ._

"Well, Abbie, you don't have to worry. Those pills you found in Harper's loft are anxiolytics. More precisely Lunax," Grace informed, "you can safely give them back to Miss McAlister, but be sure she doesn't take more than one at a time! Those are the strongest anxiolytics on the market!"

"Thanks, Grace," Abbie breathed, "I better go relive Jones before Harper decides to bit him."

Her and Hunter hurried back over to the condo building to informed the woman that they had found the right pills for her. When they entered they found Harper had climbed onto Jones's back and was pretending to ride him like a horse. The detective mean while looked fearful of what the woman might do if he stopped playing with her.

"Come ooon, Detective Jones," Harper purred, "be a good boy and let me tie you up. It'll be fun, you'll see!"

"Oh look, Harper!" Jones finally managed to get the woman off him, "Detective Abbie's back with your pills! I'm so happy!"

"My pills! My pretty pills, thank you!" she chirped skipping over.

"Here just take one," Abbie handed her the bottle, "how do you feel now?"

"I don't quite know. But I'm hungry! Aren't you hungry, Detective Abbie?" she asked, "I could eat an entire cow!"

"Now that you mentioned it, I'm getting hungry myself," Jones patted his stomach, "what do you say, Abbs, shall we go for some burgers?"

After having a quick bite to eat at the local dinner, they returned Harper back to her loft then prepared themselves for whatever it was that Jezabela wanted their help with.

"Detective Jones!" Jezabela exclaimed when the man entered with his partner, "I knew I'd see you again."

"You're the one who called us," he reminded, "so what's so urgent?"

"Last night I organized a party here. And this morning, I realized my priceless lithography of Vlad III was nowhere to be found!" she explained, "it may be still there, but . . . I'm really not good at finding things . . . could you be a doll and help me?"

"Jezabela, we're Police, not your personal Lost and Found service!" he glared.

She smirked, "now Jones, I've known you to be more . . . cooperative. Do you remember when-"

"But I guess this time we can make an exception!!" he interrupted, "Abbie, let's have a look around for this lithography!"

The BMS mistress smiled wickedly and left them to work. Abbie looked around the room while Jones tried to get rid of the blush from his face. She looked at the wooden work table and found what looked like a painting . . . if it wasn't torn to bits.

"This thing is torn to pieces, but it does look like a Work of Art," Abbie said pointing it out.

"You're right. But who would dare do that to a woman like Jezabela," Jones gulped, "I know you're natural at this, but be careful, Abbie. If this is the lithography, we'd better not damage it."

"Alright, what's she going to do, whip you?" she smirked as his blush returned.

She found her bottle of glue and used a fine tipped brush to brush the glue along the paper's ripped edges. The gently pieced the lithography back together and the glue dried quickly.

"Okay, how do you do that?!" Jones gasped at her completed work, "I can't even see the tears anymore, the lithography looks brand new!"

"Let's give it back to Jezabela right away so we can leave," Abbie replied with a slight shudder, "this place still gives me the creeps!"

Jezabela chose that moment to return to the room, "are you as fast as I remember, Detective Jones?"

He shoved the painting at her, "there you go, Jezabela. Detective Abbie has found your lithography."

"See? I knew you could be reasonable. You obey orders so well, Jones . . ." she whispered.

". . ."Detective Abbie," Jezabela turned to the other woman, "thank you for your precious help. Let me offer you these clothes as a reward."

"Thanks, but I think I'll stick with my regular clothes," Abbie paled grabbing Jones wrist and high tailing it out of thee dark room.


	28. Harvest Murder

"It's too bad Jones couldn't join us for breakfast," Abbie says as her and Nathan walked down the street side by side.

The ME snorted, "if that man could get up before ten am on a Saturday, then it would be a miracle!"

"Oh stop it," she lightly slapped his shoulder, "you just don't understand because you only need three hours of sleep to function."

"Actually, I only need two hours of sleep to function properly for about twenty-four," he informed as he opened the door to the dinner.

"Thank you," she says as she entered the warm room.

The air had the strong smell of fresh coffee, spiced tea, baked bread, and something almost . . . burnt, in the air. They took a seat by the window and a waitress brought them over a couple menus. They each ordered a cup of coffee and the waitress left as they looked over the food options.

"The bacon and eggs look good," Abbie commented looking at the picture, "they also serve it with turkey bacon, my favorite."

"No meat for me," Nathan said closing his menu, "I was going to go with the pancakes and fruit. What about Hunter?"

"I'll order extra bacon for her," she answered as their waitress returned.

"What'll it be?" the teenage woman asked, her pen poised over her notepad.

"I'll have the turkey bacon and eggs, with a side of hash-browns, pleas," Abbie responded handed her the menu, "of, and a small plate of bacon for my dog."

"And I'll take a stack of cinnamon pancakes and a side of fruit," Nathan says copying his friend's movements.

"Sorry, folks," the waitress, Fiona her name tag read, apologized with a tight smile, "but we're having some issues with our stove, only thing we can serve is cereal and waffles."

"What's wrong with it?" Abbie asked.

She gave a one shoulder shrug, "think the cook left something into long . . . so would you like some waffles?"

"Can I see your oven?" Nathan blurted out.

"Ah . . . why?" Fiona inquired, "you a mechanic or something?"

"Medical Examiner," he clarified, "and I would like to have a look at your stove."

"Ah . . . why?" she asked confused.

"Because whatever your cook left burning in there, was alive when it went in," he abruptly stood up and headed straight for the kitchen.

Abbie and Hunter hurried after him, flashing her badge to show who she was. She burst into the kitchen just seconds after him and took in the scene before.

The kitchen was a nice size, with a long stainless steel table along the wall below the service window and a dishwasher stuck in the corner. A narrow island was in the center with a rack for pots and pans above it. The stove and deep fryer sat next to each other and the kitchen staff stood as far from the stove as the could.

"Is that what I think it is?" Abbie whispered joining Nathan in front of the open stove.

He nodded, "haan, one fresh murder victim, well done."

Inside the commercial over was the charred remains of a human body, curled into a fetal position on his back side. The wires of the oven were red hot, ashes litter the floor and glass of the door.

"What a was to start the day," Abbie muttered, "alright, everybody out! This is now a crime scene and no one is aloud on it unless I authorize it!"

None of the kitchen staff made a move to leave.

"Did I stutter?" she asked, "move! Clear out the kitchen, clear out the dining room, and someone, please tell me where your chef is!"

That got people to move their feet. the kitchen staff retreated out the door and they heard the scraping of chairs as the customers ran out shortly afterwards. Only Fiona stayed behind, her face to colour of fresh snow as she stared at the body in the oven.

"Fiona," Abbie blocked the teenager's view of the body, "go take a seat in the dining room, I'll be out to talk to you shortly. Okay?"

Fiona nodded meekly and shuffled out of the kitchen. Abbie turned back to the murder and looked around. The kitchen was full of food for thanksgiving and she started by looking around the counter-tops. She found a torn picture stuck under a cookbook and a locked cell phone that had gotten kicked under the counter.

"Can you get anything from the body?" Abbie asked getting to work on unlocking the cell phone.

Nathan shot her an amused look, "oh yeah, just let me get it back and cut it open and do you think I can get something from this pile of ash?!"

"Alright, alright," she held up her hands surrender, "stupid question, how are we going to ID the remains then?"

"I'm glad you asked, can I have your powder kit?" he asked.

She handed him the brush and bottle of powder. She watched as he dusted it along the inside of the glass oven door and was shocked to see that he found fingerprints on it. He removed the prints from the glass with some tape.

"Don't burn yourself!" Abbie shrieked as his hands touched the glass.

"Abbie, I have been unable to burn myself in over twenty years, I don't think I'm going to start now," Nathan smirked removing the fingerprints from the glass, "want to run these through the system?"

"Sure," she says taking them, "then we can run the cell phone over to Alex, maybe he can find out more about our victim form it."

She pulled up the database and upload a scanned picture of the fingerprints from the glass into it. She managed to find the digital file that matched up as belonging to the fingerprint. The picture of a pale man with a spider web scar curving around his left eye, coal black hair and hazel eyes to go with it. He scowled in his picture as if someone had just insulted him.

"Our victim's name is Gray White, no joke," Abbie added, "he's thirty-four years old, divorced with a three year old daughter that is in the mother's full custody. He's listed as a temp worker who last known job was as the cook for this dinner."

"What was he in the system for?" Nathan inquired as he pictured up the torn picture.

"Small crimes, public intoxication, speeding, possession, he's been in the system since he graduated high-school," she answered, "it says here he attended Grimsborough Memorial High School, but there's nothing here for post-secondary education."

"Maybe he didn't know what he wanted to be?" he suggested using her tape to repair the picture, "most teens have trouble figuring out what they went to- kyā naraka?!"

"Say what?" she asked turning to him.

Nathan had pieced together the picture and was staring at it like it might explode. She pried it from his grasp and took a look for herself. The picture was of two men both dressed in high school football uniforms consisting of blue and gray. One she could clearly see as being their victim from when he was around eighteen years old, the other teen was a man on the same build with brown spiky hair and soft blue eyes. The message written across in black ink sealed his identity.

"Is that . . .?" Abbie couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.

"It's Jones," Nathan confirmed, "and his message is quite . . . blunt."

"After what you did to me, I hope you burn in hell!" she read off, "he couldn't have been clearer about his opinion of Gray."

"But he couldn't have done this," he defended, "I know his anger can make him do things he regrets, but to kill? Haan."

"I better call Alab," she sighed pulling out her phone.

After a few rings the Chief of Police picked up, "Hello?"

"It's Abbie and Nathan, were down at the Schuyler Dinner, and we just found their chef stuffed in the oven," Abbie explained.

"Like a turkey," Nathan added, "ah, sorry."

"I see," King said, "would you like me to informed Jones and have him meet you there with the van?"

"That's actually why we called," Abbie bit her lip," you see, we found a picture of the victim from about a decade ago and . . . Jones is in it and he left the victim quite the message for him."

There was a long pause, the could just hear his deep breathing from the other end. After a few beats of waiting he answered them.

"Solve this murder, Nathan, you're her partner." then the line went dead.

Abbie put her cell phone back in her bag and pack up the rest of the evidence along with it. They grabbed a sample of the brunt body for Grace to analyze for them. Once they got in contact with the station to send someone over to get the oven, they left the kitchen to have a talk with Fiona about the victim.

"Fiona, did you know your chef Gray White well?" Abbie asked gently to the shocked teen.

"T-that was Gray in there?" Fiona breathed, "h-he didn't deserve to die l-like that . . ."

"When did you last see him?" she inquired.

"Last night, as I was leaving from my shift," she responded, "he was always there in the kitchen till the very end, so when I left I had to pass him to get to the door."

"Did he say anything to you?" Nathan asked.

Fiona though for a second, "j-just the usual, a good night a that he would see me in the morning. When he wasn't there this morning, I just assumed he had slept in."

"Was that normal?" he questioned.

"No," she shook her head, "but he had been working extra hours recently, so I figure his need for sleep has finally caught up with him."

"How did you injure yourself?" he asked gesturing to the bruise on her collarbone and the white bandages wrapped around it.

She pulled the collar of her shirt, "I tripped during my shift last night, I'm really clumsy. W-will you find Gray's killer?"

"We will do everything we can to find his killer," Abbie assured, "would you like us to take you home? Is there someone there who can help you?"

Fiona nodded as she whipped her eyes, "m-my parents, and siblings are all home. It's just a few blocks away."

She smiled, "alright, we'll walk you home and explain what happened to them for you, okay?"

"Okay."

Abbie and Nathan walked Fiona back to her house once their back up had arrived to take over the scene. The detective explained the situation to the teen's parents in a hushed voice so as to not have the younger children hear her. Once the parents had been informed, they left the small house and headed over to the station.

They dropped the victim's cell phone off with Alex and the ash sample with Grace. After informing Chief King about what they had discovered, the two went and found Jones sitting at his desk munching of a bag of cookies.

"Abbie! Nathan!" Jones smiled and held up some cookies, "want one?"

"No," Abbie said giving him a once over. Her normal partner looked the same as always, but she saw that he had earned himself a nice dark bruise to his temple and his knuckles were wrapped in bandages.

"Jones, do you know a Gray White?" Nathan asked.

Jones's eyes hardened, "sadly, what did the jackass do this time?"

"He died," Abbie deadpanned, "and we found the note you sent him."

He choked on his cookie, "what?! Gray's dead?! How?!"

"Burnt to a crisp in the Schuyler Dinner oven," Nathan informed, "how did you two know each other?"

"We were best friend in high-school, we were on the football team, I was quarterback while he played defensive end," Jones explained, "he covered my blind-side, so I looked out for him in school in return."

"Well what cause a riff in your friendship?" Abbie asked.

"He and I wanted different things," he growled, "now, what can I help with?"

The other two exchanged looks, "well . . . you see, Jones, you can't help me on this case, your a suspect."

"You seriously think I would kill that bastard?!" he exploded, "I haven't seen him in almost ten years!"

"Ten ears means nothing when it comes to murder," she replied, "I'm asking you this as a friend, don't try and intervene in this case, and go home."

"Fine," he agreed, "but I won't mourn his death . . ."

Jones stood up and gathered his things into his bag. He grabbed his winter clothes and pulled them on as he walked to the elevator. Once the sliding doors slid shut, Alex came into the room.

"I heard what happened," Alex looked like a lost puppy,"do you really think Jones could have killed him?"

"That's what we're going to find out, Lex," Abbie promised.

"Could you find anything out from Gray's phone?" Nathan asked.

He nodded, "your victim was a careful man when it came to his digital life, no Friendnet, Tindervide or any form of social media. His contacts were so short I went thru them in ten seconds flat!"

"Who was he in contact with?" Abbie inquired.

"Most of his calls were between the temp agency and some employers, one employer was from the Lilium Hope Center," he informed them, "apparently, Gray worked there as a janitor before being fired."

"What was he fired for?" she asked.

He shrugged, "it doesn't say. But if you want to find out, the man who fired him is named Tom Hunt."

"Tom?" she smiled, "he was in the Aileen Greene case. I didn't think I would hear from him again."

"Well, we better go see what he has to say about Gray," Nathan says, "thanks, Alex."

They grabbed their coats and got in the detective's squad car to drive over to the Lilium Hope Center. When they reached the building, they saw that it had a large mural of a lily painted on the wall next to the main door with with the center's named written in the center in a cursive script. Abbie and Nathan entered the lobby area and as a worker where they might find Tom. he directed them down a hallway to his office and they thanked him. Abbie knocked on the door and the man himself answered it shortly.

"Detective Abbie!" Tom laughed seen the woman, "it's good to see you! And who's your friend? I don't think I've met him yet."

"Nathan Pandit," Nathan introduced himself, "It's a pleasure to met you, Mr. Hunt."

"Please, call me Tom," he insisted, "Mr. Hunt is to formal. So, what can I do for you today, Detective?"

"What can you tell us about Gray White?" Abbie asked.

Tom snorted, "he was the worst worker the temp agency could provide. He was always late, couldn't use a mop and soapy water, and he always left the garbage by the backdoor instead of throwing it in the dumpster! I can't tell you how many time the garbage man complained to me about it."

"Do you know of anyone who would want to harm Gray?" she inquired.

"Wait, is Gray in trouble?" he asked as he fixed his name tag.

"He's dead," Nathan elaborated.

Tom's jaw dropped, "hey, I didn't like the guy, but he never did anything worth being killed over."

"Do you have any information that might help us catch his killer?" he questioned.

"Sure, Gray left some of his things in the janitor's closet," Tom explained as he led them down some halls, "we haven't been able to clean it out yet, so feel free to take a look around."

He unlocked the door with a master key and flicked the light switch on for them. Abbie thanked him and they took a look around the storage closet. She checked the metal cabinet where the chemicals were stored while Nathan and Hunter looked through the stack of brooms.

"Hey, Nathan!" Abbie called, "what would you use Carbatrol for?"

"It's a type of medication for treating epilepsy, why?" Nathan answered moving some brooms aside.

"Then why is it in the chemical supply cupboard?" she asked holding up the bottle with a paper label that had "Carbatrol" written across it in permanent marker.

He shrugged, "it doesn't have any instructions or patient information, but maybe you can give it to Alex to track down the source."

"Good idea," she says sliding it into her bag, "did you guys find anything?"

"Some broken brooms, a couple mop bucket, and a crowbar- with blood on it," he finished pulling the object out of the pile.

The crooked end of the crowbar was covered in a caked on layer of dried crimson blood. His gloved hand held the opposite end as he examined it.

"Do you think it could have been used on our victim?" she asked.

"Possibly," he replied, "it was hard to tell the damage done to the body prior to being roasted, but if this blood comes back as being positive for him, then will know the killer used this to knock him out."

"Do you want to grab a sample?" Abbie asked holding out the pipette and micro slide.

"Sure," Nathan smiled. He pulled a sample of the blood off of the metal and dropped it onto the piece of glass, "this blood has a funny colour to it."

"Hopefully Grace will be able to find out what it is," she said slipping the crowbar into a bag.

_Two lab analyses later . . ._

"Abbie!" Alex cried latching onto the detective, "say it ain't so!"

"Say what ain't so?" Abbie asked attempting to pull the human octopus off her.

"Tell me Jones isn't  _really_ a suspect in this case!" he begged with his puppy dog eyes, "its  _Jones_!"

She sighed, "I'm sorry, Lexi, but he threatened the victim, we have to investigate him."

"So why don't you distract yourself by telling us about the pill bottle?" Nathan suggested.

"G-good idea," Alex agreed relishing Abbie, "so the pills really were Carbatrol, Grace confirmed it, but they were from any Pharmaceutical company in Grimsborough. They actually come from Canada, but they first came from somewhere else."

"Where?" Abbie asked when her home country was mentioned.

He shook his head, "no idea, but because the pills are so unique, I was able to track down the dealer from the database. Her name is Heather "Hotshot" Queen. She's been living large since her release on parole last year."

He handed Nathan the file and he quickly flipped through it, "you can say that again, according to this she lives in a condo along the river shore with her cats."

"Well before you go interview a drug queen, let me tell you what I've found," Grace interrupted them as she came in with her clipboard.

"You found something from the ash and blood?" Abbie inquired slipping the file into her bag.

She nodded, "I'll start with the ash, there was enough DNA left for me to make a positive match to Gray White, but along with it I found another set of DNA with it, but this was to faint and minimal to get an ID. but I can say that it doesn't not belong to the victim."

"And since I took that sample off of Grey's knuckles," Nathan cupped his chin as he thought, "then that means the DNA is from his killer, which means he fought with them before his death."

"And if he hit his killer hard enough for their DNA to stay on his hand and survive the oven," Grace continued, "then the killer would have to have bruises left over from the fight!"

"Got it," Alex said as he updated their digital profile, "what about the other thing? The blood?"

"Well Nathan was right about it being funny, but I'm surprised you didn't know what it was," Grace said looking at the coroner.

"What is it?" Nathan asked cocking his head to the side.

"Coffee," she laughed, "I'm pretty sure  _your_ blood looks like that sample."

"And since the coffee was  _on_  the blood and  _in_  the blood, then it means the killer drinks coffee," he concluded with his own laugh, "I don't think coffee is what's going to keep them up at night anymore."

Abbie's face fell, "then we need to add that to Jones's profile, we all know he drink as much as I do."

Alex sighed but did it, "I don't like it . . . but it's my job."

"It's all our jobs," Abbie says fluffing his hair, "now we have a drug queen to talk to!"

_Time-skip_

The detective and coroner knocked on the door of the high class condo. It really did overlook the water and the view of the Financial Center was breathtaking. Heater answered the door shortly and they took in the woman before them.

She was tall, taller then Nathan, and in her mid-to-late fifties with platinum blonde hair and sharp green eyes. She was dressed like a trophy wife form a sixties movie, with a long red dress and a fur housecoat hanging loosely off her frame. Her jewelry looked like it came from an art gallery, the rocks were the size of ping pong balls in dazzling colours.

"How can I help you, sir?" Heater asked Nathan.

"Do you know a Gray White?" Abbie asked, but the woman paid her no attention, "pardon me, ma'am."

"Ah . . . do you know a Gray White?" Nathan tried for her.

"Oh, yes! Why Gray is the one who helped me start up my . . . new business," Heater said eyeing the coroner, "such a handsome young man . . . he did a  _lot_ for me."

"He's dead," Abbie informed but still the woman acted as if she wasn't there, the detective looked at her best friend.

"He's dead," Nathan delivered the news bluntly.

Now  _that_ got a reaction. Heather threw her hand over her heart and back up into her condo. Cats scurried around and out of their master's way as he drug queen collapsed into the large couch by the fire. Abbie and Nathan ran inside while Hunter guarded the door.

"Ms. Queen, are you alright?" Nathan asked concerned.

"Oh, oh I'll be fine honey," Heather laughed, "you know how to shock a gal, don't you?"

"When was the last time you say Gray?" he asked as Abbie looked around the condo. Hey, if she was invisible to the owner she was taking advantage of it.

"Just a couple of days ago, he came to see me for medication," she replied, "I run a small pharmaceutical company for those who can't afford the cost. He gets medication form me about once a month."

"Do you know what the medication was for?" he inquired sitting next to her.

She shook her head, "I just make the orders and deliveries, I don't know what most of the medication my clients ask for does. But I do know that it was for a young girl."

"A girl?" he repeated as Abbie entered the master bedroom.

"Yes," Heather said draping her arm over the back of the couch, "I think he said she's there? Yes that sounds right. That poor girl has been through so much, and Gray was helping her and her mother by getting the child's medication for them. He was sweet like that."

"Yes, I'm sure . . ." Nathan didn't react when the woman started to play with his hair, "do you know anything else about Gray?"

"No, we had a . . . secretive relationship," she purred, "your hair is so soft and think . . . what do you do?"

"I wash it," he deadpanned as Abbie came back into the room. He stood up," thank you for your time. Here's my card, if you think of anything, please call."

"Oh don't worry, honey, I'm already thinking . . ." she says kissing the card with her rich bronze lips.

Abbie and Nathan quickly left the condo and took the steps two at a time. Hunter trailed in front of them and they reached the ground floor in record time.

"The nerve of that woman!" Abbie growled, "I may be short but I'm not invisible! I hate when people do that!"

"Hey, I would change places with you if I could," Nathan shivered, "her nails were sharp!"

She made a face, "a drug queen has a crush on you . . . I don't know what to say to that."

"Well I do!" he yelled, "I'm gay!"

She laughed, "I can't wait to see her face when she finds out, can I take a picture?"

"You can take a video for all I care," he grumbled getting into the car, "gah! It felt like I had fire ants on me when she touched me!"

"Well at least we found out how she knows Gray, nice job by the way. Very . . . detective of you," she praised starting the car.

"She said the medication was for a three year old girl, and the only one we know the victim knew was his daughter," he pondered, "do you think that was who the medication was for?"

"Its possible," she replied, "check the file, I think the ex-wife's address is listed in it."

Nathan reached into her bag and found the file ,"ah . . . 637 Kensington Ave. that's the trailer park. Oh, and your phones ringing."

"Can you get it?" Abbie asked putting the address into the GPS.

"Abbie's phone," he answered it," oh, hey Grace . . . what else did you find in the ash . . . dirt mixed with microscopic . . . pumpkin seeds? Then Grey was somewhere else before the diner with his killer . . . really, only half a mile? . . . I'll tell her, thanks Grace."

"What is it?" she asked as he put her phone back.

"Grace went over the ash again and found traces of dirt and pumpkin seeds mixed in with it," he explained, "and since these things aren't found in a dinner kitchen, it means he had to be somewhere else with his killer then brought there to be roasted. The Grimsborough pumpkin path is just half a mile from the crime scene."

"Well then, looks like were going pumpkin picking," she laughed, "after we talk to the victim's ex-wife that is."

_Time-skip_

They pulled up in front of the mobile home marked 637 after their ten minute drive. The paint of the paneling was chipped and peeling off while the windows had cracked glass and tape and plastic covering the holes. The small wooden deck was rotted and missing floor boards leaving rusted nails exposed. Nathan reached up to the door and knocked so they could avoid standing on the deck.

"Yes?" the woman who answered the door asked. She looked like she hadn't slept or eaten in weeks, her hair was dirty and full of knots while her clothes were wrinkled and full of holes and stains. She had bruises on her face and collarbone that looked to be a mix of new and old. A cute little toddler stuck her head out from behind her legs.

"Are you Flora White?" Abbie asked the woman.

"I took back my old name after the divorce, it's Holloway now," Flora answered pushing the door open further, "what can I do for you, officers? Would you like to com in? I might have some coffee . . ."

"No thank you, Flora," Abbie smiled, "we're investigating the death of your ex-husband, Gray White."

"Gray's dead?" she breathed, "oh! He won't be able to hurt us anymore!"

"Hurt you?" Nathan asked.

"You think I got these bruises from being clumsy?" she glared, "I was his punching bag, I'm just happy her never got to Sarah."

"Sarah's your daughter?" he asked waving to the toddler who gave a shy wave back.

"Yes, I only put up with him because he was the one getting Sarah's medication," she said pushing her daughter back into the home.

"The Carbatrol?" Abbie asked and Flora nodded.

"Ma'am, we know that medication is used to treat epilepsy, but did you know that Grey had gotten it illegal?" Nathan asked.

"God, no!" Flora cried, "he said it was from some pharmacy! I knew he couldn't be trusted! The pig was always trouble!"

"Do you know anyone who would have wanted him dead?" Abbie inquired.

She snorted, "that's on long list, he's been making enemies since high school. I would be surprised if one of the people who he screwed over finally returned the favor."

"Thank you for your time," Abbie said shaking the woman's hand, "your information was very helpful."

"Have a nice day, officers," Flora bid them goodbye and closed the door.

The detective and coroner returned to their car and Nathan imputed the pumpkin patch address into their GPS for Abbie to follow its directions. They drove over to the frost covered field and walked through the pumpkins and vines. After making their way to the center of the patch, they found a clearing with broken pumpkins and dug up dirt.

"This was where the struggle happened," Nathan said looking at some drag marks leading away from the clearing, "the killer dragged Gray into the cornstalks, probably so that the farmer wouldn't see them."

"And check this out," Abbie called as she picked up some pumpkin guts, "there's blood on this pumpkin, someone used it for self defense."

"And I found what looks like a note to Gray," he held up a piece of scrap paper ripped out of a notebook. Only Gray's name was visible at the top, "the frost has gotten to it but it shouldn't be hard to recover the rest of the note."

"And I'll grabbed a sample of this other substance on the pumpkin," she said tossing him the powder kit.

While Nathan dusted the note, Abbie retrieve a sample of the substance she found on the pumpkin. As she was bagging up the sample, she spotted a diamond earring glittering in the grass. She picked it up and wrote down the serial number for Alex to trace.

"Check this out," Nathan called as he waved the note, "Gray, if you don't take your shit out of our closet, I'll end you."

"Not the most threat worthy reason, but still a threat to a murder victim," Abbie shrugged, "is the note signed?"

He shook his head, "but it was written on a Lilium Hope Center notepad."

"Then we better go check what it was they so desperately wanted out of their closet," she agreed, "we can drop this sample and earning off at the lab on the way."

The group left the pumpkin patch and dropped the samples off at the station for Grace and Alex. once that was taken care of they returned to the Lilium Hope Center and made their way to the janitor closet.

"I don't know what Gray could have been hiding in here that was so important," Abbie commented as she started going through the storage closet again.

"There's lost of places to hide things in here," Nathan said running his hand along the walls.

"How are you so knowledgeable about investigating?" she asked reading the labels on the bottles.

"My foster father was a . . . federal agent," he replied almost unsure of the words.

"Like an FBI agent?" she questioned pulling out a bottle of cleaner.

"Something like that . . ." he hummed pausing at a part in the wall, "there's a change in air here."

"And this bottle is full of cocaine!" she exclaimed showing him the white powder, "I going to field test it, but I don't doubt that that's is what it is."

"And while you do that, I'm going to open this wall," he replied running his nails along the grove of the woodpanaling.

They got to their work. Abbie dropped a pinch of the white powder into the testing bag and cracked the vial inside and shook it, the solution turned blue. Nathan managed to get his nails hooked on a latch and pried the panel open. What he found made his eyes widen.

"Well someone likes using walls as banks," he remarked pulling out a wad of bills, "there has to be at least 3 million in here."

"And it's all fake," Abbie gasped looking at the bills over his shoulder, "see, the paper is wrong."

"3 million in counterfeit money and a bottle of cocaine," Nathan cupped his jaw, "was Gray transporting drugs?"

"Maybe, we can ask Alex to try and find out where this money comes from, but I don't think it's going to get us very far," she sighed, "but we can ask Tom if he knew his closet was being used as a drug store and bank."

"Got it," he said quickly stuffing the bills into a black bag and carrying it in a tight grip.

They found Tom talking to Sam in his office. After a quick talk with the oldest man, they got Tom alone in the office. Nathan showed him the fake bills he had found while Abbie pulled out the sample of cocaine.

"I think you know what this is?" Abbie stated, "it was found in the janitor closet."

"I don't know anything about that!" Tom insisted closing his blinds, "they must belong to Gray!"

"Blame the dead guy," Nathan rolled his eyes, "very original, Tom."

"I'm serious! Look," he sighed and sat back in his desk chair, "Gray was recently put under surveillance under the suspicion of drugs, but we didn't have any solid proof!"

"How did you know he was involved in drugs?" Abbie asked.

" _I_  was involved in drugs,"he reminded, "I know the scents, the signs and how people act . . . I was sure Gray was involved in drugs, but when we checked the closet, we couldn't find anything. So we fired him and that was the last I saw of him."

"But Gray didn't take the drugs with him," Nathan said, "and you confronted him about it, right?"

"I did," Tom grabbed his coffee cup and downed the rest of it, "I left him a note at the dinner demanding he take the drugs, I could smell them every time I went in there. But I could never find where he had hide them. I could let Sam find them . . . so I spoke to Gray face to face."

"And what did he do?" he asked.

"He laughed!" he growled, "he said I was crazy, that  _I_  was the one on drugs! I've been clean for almost a month, and I wasn't about to throw away the life I had made. Not now when I finally have a purpose in it!"

"Well, we'll be taking the drugs and money with us. So you don't have to worry about it anymore," Abbie assured him, "we'll let you know if we need anything else."

They left the Lilium Hope Center and returned to the station. The send the cocaine to lock up and entered Alex's lab to give him the money to trace.

"Wow!" Alex gaped wide-eyed as he saw the fake money, "I know I said I wanted a Christmas bonus, but this is a little more than I was asking!"

"Well considering this is all fake and tied to drugs, I think it was a little more then you asked for," Abbie laughed, 'could you find anything from those earring I sent you?"

"They belong to Heater Queen, there not reported stolen so she must have lost them recently," he informed them, "worth a pretty penny to, probably about as much as this bag here."

"Great, just who I wanted to talk to," Abbie says rolling her eyes, "have fun interviewing he, Natey!"

"Oh, no no no no! You are  _not_  leaving me along with that, that woman!" Nathan gagged.

"What happened?!" Alex laughed at his friend's discomfort.

"Let's just say a cougar has a crush on our coroner . . ." Abbie snickered as Nathan shot her a murderous look.

"If she tries anything . . ." a crackle of lightning flashed in Nathan's eye, "her hair is going to be a little frizzy . . ."

"I think you mean fried," Grace told him, "don't try to kill our suspects, it's frowned upon."

"Fine . . ." he grumbled.

"Did you find anything useful from that sample?" Abbie asked.

Grace nodded, "when I first ran it through the system, I thought that you had just sent me a sample of the pumpkin guts. But when I took a closer look at it, I found traces of vanilla, flour, sugar and spices."

"Huh . . . was the killer baking while they killed Gray?" Abbie joked with her question.

"No, but they do enjoy baked goods," she chuckled, "the sample you sent me was residue from pumpkin pie. The killer must have had it on their hands when they attacked Gray with that pumpkin."

"So our killer eats pumpkin pie," she nodded as writing it down, "well, they won't be celebrating thanksgiving when we get out hands on them."

"So, what next?" Nathan asked with a tight smile.

Abbie smirked, "why, we have to go see your girlfriend, lover-boy."

His smile fell, "I was praying you had forgotten that . . ."

"Use protection!" Alex cackled as the two left, Nathan gave him a nice hand gesture.

When they got to the condo the climbed the stairs to Heather's door. Nathan looked at Abbie with pleading eyes but she just shook her head. He grumbled but knocked on the door and his partner and Hunter stood to the side. Heater threw the door open with flourish and smiled at the coroner.

"Nathan Pandit! Such a lovely name you have, its so . . exotic," Heather laughed, "I didn't think I would be seeing you so soon!"

"Well," Nathan put o a charming smile, "I wanted to be the one to personally return your lost earring."

She gasped when he presented her with the diamond, "my earring! I didn't even know it was gone! Wherever did you find it?!"

"In the pumpkin patch," he answered, "Gray had been there recently, perhaps he had found it first?"

"No," she glared, "he took it from my condo . . . oh! He's been doing it! I've had small pieces of jewelry go missing, I thought I was going crazy . . . but I knew someone was stealing from me!"

"Why did you never report it to the police, atipriya?" he asked in a sly tone of voice. Abbie's jaw dropped, "we could have help you with your . . .  _problem_."

"I'm sure your very  _talented_ ," she laughed pulling on the strings of his hoodie, "but I have . . . bad experiences with the police. You understand, don't you honey?"

"Of course, atipriya," he purred, "my partner and I must leave to find Gray's killer, you understand, adhikāra?"

Heather laughed with a pink dust on her cheeks, "I have no idea what you said, but I  _love_ it."

"We will let you know if we need your help again," Nathan hummed and raised the drug queen's hand up and kissed her knuckles. Heather continued to laugh and Abbie suspected that she must have had a little bit too much booze before they arrive. She closed the door and Nathan turned to his best friend, he closed Abbie's mouth which was still hanging open.

"Your mouth will freeze like that," he smirked.

"Y-y-you?!" she stuttered, "where the hell did that come from?!"

"I said my foster father was a federal agent," he says leading her and Hunter down the stairs.

"Yes, but why did he teach you how to do  _that!?_ " she demanded waving her hand back at the condo.

"Who said he did?" that smirk was starting to annoy her, "so what should we do now?"

"I want to have another look at the pumpkin patch, I think I might have missed something," she changed the subject while staring the car and putting it into drive.

"You, miss something?" Nathan snorted, "and I'm not a lab rat."

"I don't like when you call yourself that," Abbie frowned pulling onto the main road.

He shrugged, "it's true, and besides, there's worse things I could call myself."

"I guess I can't argue with you on that."

They reached the pumpkin patch and made their way back through the corn maze to the clearing where Gray meet with his killer. There was a carriage filled with hay bales and blankets. Abbie pulled off the blanket covering the hay and began going through the rough straw.

She found some strange items to be hidden in hay bales. The first was a baby's rattle, with a pink handle and small butterflies and bees painted on the ball. The next was a pocket red pocket knife that someone had tried to file the serial number off of. The last was a broken badge hidden under the biggest hay bale.

"I still wonder how the killer- managed to get the upper hand . . ." Abbie murmured.

"Huh?" Nathan asked from where he was working to make up the serial number of the pocket knife, "you say something?"

"Forget it,," she said picking up the baby rattle, "who could have dropped this?"

"Is there a name on it?" he questioned, "I still have Avi's first rattle, his name and birth-date is engraved on the handle."

She flipped it in her hands, "there is something here, but the weather must have gotten to it before us."

"And when has that ever stopped you?" he teased writing the serial number on a tag.

"Never," she smirked pulling out her powder kit. She dusted the carbon powder across the small handle and the wind carried away the excess for her. The handle now read  _Sarah White, 07/25/2015_.

"This belongs to the victim's daughter," Abbie said, "but why would he have it?"

"The only person who could answer that if Flora," Nathan replied, "and only Alex will be able to find the owner of this pocket knife."

"We'll send it to him once I fix this badge, it looks familiar . . ." she muttered pulling out the bottle of super glue.

She quickly repaired the badge and gasped, "shit . . ."

"What is it?" Nathan asked looking over her shoulder.

"Jones's badge . . . which means he was here recently," she groaned shoving it into her bag.

"He might have a reasonable explanation for it?" he suggested but didn't sound too convinced about it.

They sighed and decided to check in with their teammate turned suspect first. They returned to the station and Nathan rushed the pocket knife over to Alex to trace the owner while Abbie called Jones in. the detective arrived quickly and headed into the interrogation room without any complaints.

"Jones, is there any reason why we found your police badge in the pumpkin patch where Gray meet his killer?" Abbie asked sliding the badge across the table.

Jones let out a nice curse, "look whatever your thinking, its wrong. I went to the pumpkin patch, yes but it wasn't to meet with Gray. I promise."

"Then what were you doing there?" Nathan inquired leaning his back against the two-way glass.

"I was . . . planning something, I want to keep it a surprise and I must have dropped my badge when I was lost in my own thoughts," he reasoned playing with his tie, "look, Gray and I didn't like each other but I wouldn't kill him for what he did."

"What did he do?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

He laughed, "are you trying to replace me, Natey?"

"No," Abbie answered for the Indian, "now answer the question."

"Fine," Jones sighed, "when Gray and I were in high school we were both on the football team, I was the quarterback and he was defensive end, as I said earlier. We were best friends and the best players in Grimbrough. Well the playoffs were coming up and the rumor was that there were going to be talent scouts there. My team practiced every day for weeks to be at our best . . . well the day before the game the coach calls me into his office and tells me I'm off the team!"

"What happened?" she inquired.

"Gray happened," he growled with a sharp glare, "he planted steroids in my locker which the coach found. They never even let me defend myself, just forced me to had in my uniform and kick me to the curb. After the game I found out that Gray took my place and got a football scholarship to University! It should've been me! And you know what he did when I went to the dinner? He set a piece of pumpkin pie in front of me and talked to me like it never happened!"

"And if you decided to kill Gray for taking that away from you, then it'll be  _you_  going to jail for it," she glared. He looked at her in shock, "you know we already arrest a cop for killing, or did you for Harry?"

"I-," he shook his head, "no I haven't, don't let me get in the way of your job."

Abbie and Nathan left the interrogation room and asked Ramirez to keep Jones at the station until he had calmed down. They left the station and drove out to the trailer park to talk with the victim's ex-wife about how her daughter's rattle ended up on their crime scene.

"Flora?" Abbie greeted the woman when she opened the door, "we found you daughter's baby rattle at one of our crime scenes, was there any reason why Gray would have had it?"

"He had Sarah's rattle?!" Flora fumed clenching her fists, "its been missing since last week! When I asked him about it he said I must have just misplaced it! I should have known he was lying . . ."

"Do you know why he would have taken it?" Nathan inquired, "I know how important a baby's rattle is, I still have my son's and I refuse to let anyone take it."

"He probably stole it to get back at me from taking away his parental right" she glared, "I told him over a lice of my grandmother's pumpkin pie, he flipped and threw it at me! He said he would go to the police, claim that I was unfit to take care of her! Like he could do any better!"

"Why did you never report his abuse?" Abbie asked, "the police would have help you."

Flora snorted, "yeah, then who would have gotten Sarah's medicine? I know the jackass didn't get it legally, but encase you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly rolling in money here . . ."

"Were sorry to have upset you," she said handing the mother the rattle, "we just wanted to return this, have a good day, Flora. Say hi to Sarah for us."

"She would like that," she smiled shaking the rattle, it made a melodic sound.

"So what now?" Nathan asked as they returned to the car.

"Call Alex and see what he's found," Abbie answered pulling out her phone.

_Ring! Ring! Ri-!_ "Hello?"

"Hey, Lexi," she said to the younger, "could you find the owner of that pocket knife?"

"Of course I did!" Alex laughed proudly, "It's registered to a Fiona Gillmor, isn't one of your suspects named that?"

"She is," she hummed, "now why would she be carrying a pocket knife around?"

"Only one way to find out," Nathan chimed in.

"Go ask her!" Alex finished.

"You two," Abbie chuckled rolling her eyes, "Tweedledee and Tweedledum."

"Hey!" they cried in unison.

She laughed harder, "I just teasing you, thanks Alex, that was just what we needed for another talk with Fiona."

"Just doing my job," Alex beamed, "awesomely."

"Yes, you are the best," she praised, "see you later."

"Bye!"

They both hung up and Abbie started the long drive across town to Fiona's house. When they finally got to the townhouse, they met with Fiona's parents and explained the situation. They led them inside and up to their daughter's bedroom so that they could talk in private. Fiona was on her bed working on her laptop, she set it aside to give the investigators her full attention.

"What can I do for you, officers?" Fiona asked.

"We found a pocket knife that is registered to you on one of our crime scene," Abbie told her, "We believe that Gray met with his killer at the pumpkin patch, is there any reason why it would have been there?"

"I take my siblings there every year for the hay rides," she responded, "it probably fell out of my pocket during the ride."

"But why would you need to carry a pocket knife in the first place?" Nathan questioned.

"Look . . . I wasn't totally truthful about Gray and our . . . relationship," she sighed, "Gray was . . . very forthcoming with his feelings, and had no problems telling others how he felt about them, even if it wasn't appropriate. He would try and get me to go out with him, catcalled me, tried to put his hands where he shouldn't, you get the picture."

"Have you told anyone about his actions? Your boss, parents?" Abbie inquired.

"No, I'm supposed to be the strong on in this family, my brothers and sisters look up to me," Fiona sighed, "I wish they wouldn't but I have to be an example, and that means solving my problems on my own. I drank twenty cups of coffee last night trying to think of a way to get him to stop. I almost couldn't help mom bake the pumpkin pies for the bake sale my hands were shaking so bad."

"Well let's just hope you didn't go to extreme measures to stop Gray, Fiona," she said, "or else we will be back."

"I have work to do," she grumbled pulling her laptop back onto her lpa, shutting them out.

Abbie, Nathan and Hunter left the teenager's house and stood outside sitting on the hod of their car.

"Well so far each of our suspects had a reason for wanting Gray dead," Abbie pondered fixing her hijab," Tom was in risk of losing his job if the drugs were found in the closet."

"And both Heater and Flora had things stolen from them," Nathan continued, "those earrings were worth a small fortune and the rattle meant a lot to Flora."

"And Jones could still be holding a grudge against Gray form what he did in high school," she sighed, "I don't want to think that he did it but . . ."

"Well if we want to catch the killer, we'll need more evidence, any suggestions?" he asked.

She thought about it, "we could check the dinner again, there might be more clues there that the killer left."

"Smart idea," he agreed sliding into his seat.

_At the dinner . . ._

When they entered the kitchen they checked the areas they hadn't gone over the first time, Abbie checking the cupboards while Nathan looked underneath the tables.

"Someone went through the first aid kit," Abbie informed opening the small box and finding it in a mess.

"And something got stuck under here," Nathan grunted sticking his arm under a table, "and its in the back . . ."

She pulled out a roll of gauze, "since when does gauze come pre blooded?"

"Probably by the same way a note is written in blood," he replied sitting on the floor after finally managed to grab the note.

"What does it say?" she asked pulling off a sample of the blood.

"It was F," he read, "whoever wrote it was stopped before they could finish it."

"Well we better send these two blood sample to Grace in order to find out where they came from," she said bagging the clues.

"On it!"

_Two blood analysis later . . ._

"Those blood samples you found were a great help in breaking this case," Grace told them sitting at her desk.

"So you managed to find evidence against our killer from them?" Nathan asked looking at the results on the scene.

She nodded, "to start, the blood from the gauze wasn't the victim's, my guess is that the killer cut themselves and them sued the first aid kits supplies to fix them. Unfortunately the blood wasn't enough to get anything from the killer's genetic makeup."

"But if it was on the gauze, then they must have used some to wrap their wounds," he reasoned, "and since the murder happened last night, their wounds wouldn't have healed yet."

"Exactly," she agreed, "so the killer is wearing bandages."

"Only Jones and Fiona are wearing gauze," Abbie recalled, "please tell me the note gave us something."

"Oh, it told quite the story alright," Grace replied, "the blood was a match for the victims, but what's really interesting was with Alex's help, we managed to determine that Gray was the one who wrote it, probably in his final moments."

"And if Gray wrote the note . . ." she hummed.

"Then he was trying to write his killer's name!" she finished for her, "so your killer's name starts with the letter "F"."

"I'll admit I'm relieved, but I'm also saddened," Abbie frowned, "her family is going to be devastated."

"How old?" Grace asked.

"18," Nathan answered, "she will legally be tried as an adult."

She sighed, "it's moments like this I'm glad I work in a lab."

"Sometimes I envy you," Abbie shook her head, "let's go arrest a killer."

_At Fiona's house . . ._

"Fiona Gillmor, you are under arrest for the murder of Gray White," Abbie informed the girl as she placed the cuffs on her and read her her rights, "do you understand these rights which I have read to you?"

"Yes," Fiona muttered, "c-can you take me out the back? I don't want my siblings to see this . . ."

"Of course," she said leading her down the stairs, "why did you do it? Why kill Gray?"

"He was a slime-ball," she growled, "he kept trying to get me to sleep with him. He even had the guts to threaten my family! He said he would hurt my brothers and sisters if I didn't do what he said! I had to keep them safe!"

"You should have reported him to the police, instead of killing him," she informed, "we would have put him away."

She hung her head, "at least this way I don't have to worry about him hurting them."

_In the Courtroom . . ._

"Fiona Gillmor, you stand accused for the murder of Gray White," Judge Hall looked down from her podium, "how do you pleed?"

"Guilty, your honor, but I don't regret what I did," Fiona held her head high, "the world is better off without that bastard in it."

"Maybe so, but he was still a human being, Ms. Gillmor, and one who should have been tried for his crimes," she scolded, "not killed."

"He would have gotten out, he would have come after me, he would have come after my family!" she yelled, "I had to protect my brothers and sisters! It's my job to look out for them!"

"Well, you won't be able to protect them for a long time," she sighed, "Fiona Gillmor, for the murder of Gray White, this Court sentences you to 15 years in prison with a chance of parole in 7. Court dismissed!"

The guards lead Fiona out of the Courtroom and the crowd filled out afterwards. Abbie, Hunter and Nathan followed suit and met up with Chief King outside of the building.

"That was excellent work you two, especially you, Nathan, you really surprised me today," King smiled at them, "but I'm worried about Jones just don't tell him I said that."

Abbie laughed, "we won't, but we were planning on checking in on him after the trial."

"Good," he nodded, "and I'd also like you to investigate Heater Queen, if her drug operation is as big as we think, then she needs to be arrested."

"I was hoping you wouldn't say that . . ." Nathan wined screwing his eyes shut.

King raised an eyebrow, "from what I read in Abbie's report, you were exceptionally great at interrogating her, I was looking for you to use those skills again."

"Just . . . don't laugh," he shot the order at the Muslim.

Abbie snorted, "I won't."

"Oh, and I got a call from the station, Tom Hunt called apparently there is an issue at the Lilium Hope Center and he specifically asked for your help," King finished, "just try to be done by supper, were having thanksgiving dinner at my house. 6 o'clock, don't be late."

"Yes sir!" they saluted.

They left the courthouse and Nathan called Jones to see where he was. He said that he was at the pumpkin patch looking for something, they told him they would be there shortly and to stay put until they got there. Abbie pulled up outside the corn maze and they went inside to find Jones, they found him in the clearing looking around the area on his hand and knees.

"Would you like some help?" Abbie asked her partner.

Jones whipped his head up so fast he hit it on the cart, "owwww!"

"Let me see," Nathan ordered crouching down in front of him, "you got yourself good on that one."

"Thanks, doc . . ." he grumbled, " _I_  could have told you that."

He gave the detective a nice shock for that, "if you don't stop, I'll have you put on desk duty for a month."

He narrowed his eyes, "you wouldn't."

"Try me," he glared back.

"Alright you two," Abbie held her hands up, "now Jones, while Nathan checks you over, how about I find what you're looking for?"

"Fine," Jones sighed, "I'm looking for a small black box, like the size of your hand. It has a red bow on the top to. I need it for tonight."

"Okay, I'll find it for you," she promised.

Hunter and her started to look around the corn stalks for the box he described. It was hard to push all the tall stalks aside when most were frozen in place by the first, but the K-9 managed to loosen the ground with her paws so the detective could move the stalks ore easily. Eventually they found a small black box with the red ribbon hidden under a pile of corn.

"Is this the box you're looking for?" Abbie asked holding it up.

"Yes!" Jones cried ripping it out of her hands, "thank you! I thought I had lost it!"

"What is it?" she inquired.

"Nothing!" he squeaked, "it is nothing! Just a box!"

"You are a terrible liar, Jones," Nathan rolled his eyes.

"Like your any better!" he argued.

"I am a perfect liar," he smirked, "so when do we get to find out what's in the box?"

"Tonight, after supper," he grinned, "thanks, now I gotta run!"

They watched Jones sprint out of the corn maze clearing and blinked after him.

"Well . . . that was quick," Nathan remarked.

"You can say that aging," Abbie agreed, "I thought it would take us longer, now how about we go see Tom?"

"If it delays talking to the drug queen, I'm in," he laughed following her back to the car.

_At the Lilium Hope Center . . ._

"So what can we help you with, Tom?" Abbie asked once they found the ex-drug addict in his office.

"Well, after you found the drugs and money in the janitor closet, I wanted to ask if you would have another look at it," Tom replied, "just to make sure Gray didn't leave behind any other, surprises."

"Of course," she smiled, "it's no problem."

"Thank you," he sighed, "I had to tell Sam about what you found, so it would put both of us at ease if you had another look for us."

"Well you don't have to worry, if there's anything in there, Hunter will pick up the sent," she assured.

"I owe you one," he said, "if you need anything, give me a call, seriously."

"I'll remember that," she says as the left the office.

Her, Hunter and Nathan entered the small janitor's closet for what should be the last time. They looked in and around the areas where they had already searched and couldn't find anything that seemed like drugs, Nathan checked all the cleaning products and confirmed that everything was in order. They were about to leave when a piece of paper caught Abbie's attention.

"What's this?" she asked as she picked it up. It looked like a legal document but with all the stains on it it was hard to tell.

"Looks like a will," Nathan said peeking over her shoulder, "or, maybe its a insurance claim? It's hard to tell with those ketchup stains."

"I thought it was jam," she replied, "maybe Tom knows what this is?"

"Wouldn't hurt to ask."

It turned out Tom had no idea what the paper was. He said that hey could take it and thanked them for making sure the closet was clean. They decided to send the paper to Alex and see if he could manage to find out what it was about for them. Meanwhile Abbie and Nathan drove over to Heather's condo to see if they could find anything to incriminate the drug dealer.

"I swear, if she tries anything, I am going to scream," Nathan vowed as they ascended the stairs.

"Just keep her distracted for five minutes, I think there was something in the bedroom but I need Hunter to make sure," Abbie explained.

"Five, got it," he nodded as he knocked on the door.

"It's good to see you again," Heater greeted as she opened the door, "what can I do for you, honey?"

"Well I was just coming to ask if you could . . ." Nathan continued to talk while Abbie and Hunter snuck inside the condo and started looking around.

Hunter sniffed around the floor and led her partner into the bedroom and to the large queen size bed. They got down to the floor and looked under the sheets to see that someone had recently removed the floorboards under the bed. Abbie reached her hand under and managed to pull one of the loose boards off, they found bricks of cocaine stored in the floor.

"Jackpot," Abbie whispered taking a picture of it and calling in the drug team.

She placed the floorboard back in place and left the bedroom to go relive Nathan of his duty. Heather was trying to get the coroner to come inside for a "special show" and free drinks, but when he saw Abbie coming back with a smile on her face, he smirked.

"I think you won't be able to have any special shows for a while, Mrs. queen," he told her watching Abbie unlock the handcuffs.

"And why not, honey?" Heater purred.

"Because your under arrest for drug trafficking," Abbie answered slapping the cuffs on her wrists.

"What?!" she shrieked, "you can't arrest me!"

Oh, so now you see me?" she glared, "you, I think I'm going to throw in a fine for assaulting a police officer and failure to comply to their orders. That sound good to you, Nathan?"

"Sounds perfect," he agreed with a larger smirk.

They waited for the drug team to arrive and had to listen to Heather fuming the whole time about being arrested. When the other team arrived they handed off the drug queen to her and left them to their work. As they climbed back into their car, Abbie's cell phone pinged with a message.

"It's from Alex," she said as she read it, "he says that the paper was a will, Gray's will in fact."

"What did it say?" Nathan asked.

"It says that Gray left all his possessions which are kept in a storage lock to Flora Holloway and Sarah White, and that all his money is to go to them after he is gone," she answered putting her phone back in her pocket, "which is great for them, now they'll have some money to live a better life."

"Do you want to tell her?"

"I think it would be better if a lawyer does, at least then Flora will be able to get all the facts she need regarding Gray's will."

"Alright, and we still have fifteen minutes to get to King's house," he says looking at his watch.

"I can get us there in ten," she smirked starting the car.

_After the larger Thanksgiving dinner . . ._

Jones stood up from his seat at the long table, "there's something I would like to say."

The other's fell silent as they watched him turn to his girlfriend. He stuck his hand into his pocket and took her with his other.

"Ginger, we've known each other since I was a rookie cop who couldn't figure out how to use his gun," he started, "when we first met, you not only managed to use my own cuffs to lock me to a bike rack, but you managed to steal my heart. I managed to get you to become my informant, then my friend and now my girlfriend. But there's one more place I would like you to take."

Jones got down on one knee and pulled out the black box. He opened it to show a beautiful diamond set into a simple gold band. Ginger gasped and covered her mouth as the others started to cheer.

"Ginger, will you marry me?" Jones asked holding up the ring.

"Yes!" Ginger yelled with tears of joy streaming down her face.

As the couple kissed and Jones slipped the ring on his fiancee's finger, the kids pop a bunch of streamer and sparkle cracker above their heads. Where they had gotten those form they weren't sure, but it made the whole thing even better.

"It's snowing!" Avi and Itzel screamed.

"Can we go outside,  _please?!"_  Mariposa begged.

"Put on your winter clothes and we all can," Valentina says leading them to the front porch.

About five minutes later the while Grimsborough Police team was outside with their family watching the kids run around trying to catch snowflakes on their tongues. Jones moved over to Abbie's side and gave her a one armed hug.

"Thanks, partner," he whispered hugging her small form close, "I knew you would prove my innocence."

"IT no problem, you would do the same for me," she replied returning the hug, "so now you have a wedding to plane for."

He smiled, "yeah . . . and if it wasn't for you, I don't think I ever would have gotten to date her."

"You can thank Biff to, he helped a lot with the surprise," she laughed.

"Yeah, he did," he chuckled, "but really, I don't think I every would have found love again if you hadn't kicked my ass into gear."

She snorted, "yeah . . . love is coming back into style."


	29. The Secret Experiment

"Abbie, with things being so quiet lately, I wouldn't be surprised if you've already put all the killers of the Financial Center behind bars!" Jones commented leaning back in his chair.

"Don't jinks us," Abbie replied wiggling her pen at him.

"Guys," Ramirez called as he entered the office followed by a familiar cameraman, "Carl Ackerman, Rachel Priest's cameraman wants to speak to you. He says it's urgent!"

"What is it you need, Carl?" Abbie asked standing up to speak with the man.

"Detective Abbie, please you've got to help me: Rachel has gone missing!" Carl cried.

"What do you mean missing?!" Jones demanded.

"At first, I thought she was just off chasing a story like always," he explained, "but now I'm starting to fear the worst!"

"If she really is missing," Abbie pondered, "then we should check her office, she spends more time there then her own house."

You're right," Jones agreed grabbing his stuff, " and maybe she left a paper trail that will lead us to her last location!"

"You can wait hree, Carl," she told the cameraman as she followed her partner to the elevator, "we'll get back to you if we find anything out as soon as possible."

"Thank you," Carl sighed setting his camera down and taking a seat.

When Jones and Abbie reached the Grim News Headquarters they found the building to be in complete darkness with only the streetlights lighting the front of the building. They entered through the front door and made their way up to the floor Rachel used as her office and meeting room.

"Well, this looks much cleaner than the last time we were here," Abbie remarked looking through the papers on Rachel's desk.

"Yeah, but is it clean enough to find out where Rachel is?" Jones asked checking the other desk.

"Depends, do you call a note pad with a missing page useful?" she replied holding up the notepad she had found.

"It looks like Rachel wrote something down before taking the page with her!" he said walking over to talk a closer look, "If this happens to be an address, it might lead us to where she went missing! Can you recover the message for us, Abbs?"

"I can do it blindfolded," she smirked finding her supplies.

She found a sharpened pencil to use and gently scratched the side of the graphite along the paper. So the address that had imprinted on the next page was clear enough for them to read.

"Awesome work" Jones praised, "so Rachel did indeed write down an address for . . .The abandoned factory?!"

"What would Rachel be looking for there?" Abbie wondered, "I haven't heard about anything going on there, have you?"

"No, but if Rachel smelled a story, then there's no stopping her," he sighed, "we better go see if we can find her before anything bad happens."

"I  _already_ have a bad feeling about this . . ." she murmured taking the notepad with them.

They took the notebook with them and rushed to their car. They got to the abandoned factory and found one of the side doors had been broken down, they drew their guns and cautiously walked inside. They split up and checked the rooms yelling 'clear!' once each room was check. They met back up in the main room and flashed their torches around.

"Why on Earth would Rachel have come to this abandoned factory?!" Jones cried, "There's nothing here!"

Abbie shines her light around and it hit something metallic, "but their is a trapdoor.

"Wow, you've got eagle eyes, Abbs! There's no way I would have ever noticed that trapdoor!" he remarked crouching down in front of it, "A trapdoor activated with a secret code in an abandoned warehouse? I wonder what type of mess Rachel got caught up in this time . . ."

"Only one way to find out," she says pushing up her sleeves, "keep your light on the keypad, please."

Jones did as he was asked and Abbie quickly worked to unlock the trapdoor. The door popped and hissed as she entered the correct code and she raised it up to reveal a small set of stairs leading to a basement lab.

"Deja Vu," Abbie commented leaning to get a better look, "It looks like it leads to an underground facility. If this was what Rachel was looking for, I hope she didn't go in alone."

"Yeah," Jones agreed with a shudder, "I mean, I haven't even gone in and already the place is giving me the chills . . . Abbie, have your gun drawn just in case."

Slowly they descended the stairs, Jones in the lead followed closely behind by Abbie and Hunter. They had radioed in their discovery before going down, so Ramirez was coming with back for them.

The room they entered sent shivers down their spines. The lab's fluorescent lights cast a pale glow around the room. There was a observation chair in the center of the room and a vat of acid near it. But what was inside the vat was scarier than the room itself, in the vat was a human skeleton.

"This skeleton is headless and with all this acid it's hard to tell," Abbie gasped looking into the vat, "but I really hope this skeleton isn't Rachel!"

"But there's no way Rachel could have been down here, right?" Jones gulped looking around the room, "I mean look- eek!"

Abbie jumped at her partner's yelp and she spun around to see what scared him. Her flashlight landed in the shamed remains of the skeleton's head.

"This smashed skull obviously belongs to the skeleton: and the only way of knowing whether it really is Rachel or not is by piecing it back together," Jones shuddered backing away from it, and check this out, it looks like the killer's left a shoe-print behind. We should hurry and run it through our database."

"You can do that while I work on the skull," she offered, "can you call . . . this in?"

"Sure," he replies pulling out his phone.

While Jones talked to dispatch and called in the reinforcements, Abbie started the tortuous task of gluing the victim's skull back together. She had never done anything like this before but it was just like gluing a porcelain vase back together.

By the time she had managed to glue the skull back together, Jones had run the shoe-print through their database and Nathan had arrive with his gear.

"They didn't cover this in med school," Nathan cocked his head as he examined the vat, "I don't even think there's a procedure for this . . ."

Jones clapped him on the back, "well, your going to be the one to make it!"

"Yay me . . ." he sighed looking for something to use as a fishing net.

"So what did that shoe-print belong to?" Abbie asked as she set the skull down on the gurney.

"Office shoes," Jones answered, "I'm sure Ramirez would be more than happy to investigate which suspects wear office shoes for us."

"I sure can!" the field officer piped up, "just give me a list of your suspects as they come."

"And let's hope that Grace and ID our victim with their skull," Abbie added, "need a hand, Nathan?"

"No!" he yelled using a long poll with a hooked end to fish out the body, "if this acid get on your skin, well . . . you can see."

"Well, let's get this all back to the lab and figure out what happened to them," Jones said pushing the gurney over to the vat.

_Two skeleton analyses later . . ._

"Your victim was subjected to gruesome biochemical experiments, which explains why you found her in that secret lab," Nathan explains to them as they went to visit Grace.

"Her?" Jones inquired.

He nodded, "skeletal structure is that of a woman, I'm sorry, but I have no idea what substance she was injected with: I've never seen or heard anything like it! The substance forced her bones to grow to an impossible size... the bones grew so quickly in fact, it tore her skin apart!"

"I think I might get sick . . ." he gagged.

"You saw the state of the body, so you can imagine my surprise when I found dog hairs on the skeleton!" he continued ignoring the detective's discomfort, "It seems these particular dog hairs were coated in a very thick oil which preserved them from the corrosive acid, unlike the poor victim. And thanks to these dog hairs, the identity of your killer is already a bit less of a mystery: you're looking for a killer who owns a guard dog!"

"Now we just need an ID of our victim to arrest their killer," Abbie says as they entered the forensics lab.

"Well, to identify the skull you found in that secret lab, I had to make a 3D holographic scan of it," Grace spun around in her swivel chair to face them, "from that, I did a virtual reconstruction of the face, starting with the victim's muscle structure until I could identify her identity."

Jones gulped, "and . . .?"

She sighed, "I'm so sorry, I wish it was otherwise but... your victim is Rachel Priest."

"I knew it, I knew she was dead the minute Carl told us she had gone missing!" he cried with tears in his eyes, "oh Rachel, whatever did you get yourself mixed up with?"

"I know how hard it is to investigate the murder of someone you knew," she sympathizes as Nathan placed a hand on Jones's shoulder, "if you ever need to talk, I'll be here, Abbie."

"Thanks Grace . . ." Abbie smiled softly, "we need to inform Carl of this terrible news . . . just give us a minute to get it together."

One the detectives had gotten their nerves back together, they left the lab and went to find Carl. The cameraman was still in their office sitting in their chair just as they had left him.

"I'm sorry to inform you Rachel's dead, Carl," Abbie told the man gently, "but what I don't understand is why didn't you tell us sooner that she was missing?"

"Because she fired me!" Carl yelled as he dropped his head into his hands, "one day, she decided she didn't like my camera work and kicked me out, just like that! I came back her hoping to get my job back! At first, I thought she was just avoiding me, but then I realized something was wrong.

"I had this bad feeling for a while actually . . ." he continued, "ever since she started hanging out with this loony in Walton Square, Drake Ribbs."

"Drake Ribbs?" Abbie asked, "why was Rachel investigating him?"

Carl shrugged clueless, "I don't know why she was so interested in him, the man looked like a freak! I wouldn't be surprised if it was Drake who kill her!"

"We will look into this," she promised, "thank you for the information, Carl."

The cameraman grabbed his camera and bag and headed out of the office by way of the elevator. Jones and Abbie created a new file for Rachel's murder and added what they knew so far.

"Somehow I feel like Carl is hiding something from us.," Jones mused as he lead on his desk, "and even though Rachel did fire him, I was still expecting Carl to be more upset by her death. Still, we should go and talk to this "freak" Drake Ribbs and find out why Rachel was so interested in him."

"And now that we know it's part of a murder investigation," Abbie piped up, "we should go over Rachel's office again for clues."

"Good idea," he agreed, "I'll go start the car while you ask Alex to find Drake."

They split up and Abbie and Hunter rushed to the tech lab. It didn't take Alex more then a minute to find the Drake Ribbs they were looking for, and apparently he was ex-military and known to be seen hanging around the town square downtown. They ran down to the parking garage and hopped in the squad car and gave Jones the address.

When they reached the snow covered downtown, the sun had risen over the buildings and the ice on the roads was beginning to melt. Jones and Abbie walked down the street looking for the man with the help of a picture, and it didn't take them long to spot the hulking man hunched under one of the maple trees. They approached him with their badges visible for him to see.

"Drake Ribbs?" Abbie inquired, "we're investigating the death of Rachel Priest, we been told by her cameraman that she had been visiting you recently."

Drake smiled lovingly, "my lovely Rachel often came to see me. She loved my stories, always wanted to hear more."

"What stories?" Jones asked.

"The sad story of how I was transformed into a monster! When I was in the army, I was used for secret drug experiments!" Drake growled, "the doctors turned me into this monster, and then they kicked me out! Nobody believed me except for my beautiful Rachel. So sweet. My little angel."

"We sorry for you lose, you two seemed very close," Abbie says handing him her card, "if you think of anything Rachel might have told you that could help us, please let me know."

"Rachel . . ." he whispered watching the snow fall. Jones and Abbie walked away and only spoke once they were out of earshot.

"Abbie, I've never seen a human being look more like a killing machine before!" Jones remarked in shock, "if the army really did secretly experiment on Drake, I bet this is a story Rachel would have wanted to tell . . ."

"She wouldn't have stopped until she did," Abbie deduced, "when Rachel got a hold of a good story, she wouldn't stop until it was told."

"But what if Drake mistook Rachel's interest in him for love, and when she didn't love him back, he killed her?!" he gulped.

"Somehow, I don't see Drake throwing her in a vat of acid," she says looking back at the man.

"Your right, the military trains soldiers to face the situation head on," he agreed, "I don't think Drake would have killed Rachel like that."

"And now that we have that established, we better go check out her office again before the rest of the news crew gets there," she replied.

"Let's go!" he yelled racing her to the car.

They drove back to the Grim News headquarters and managed to secure the scene before any of the workers could get inside. After giving them a quick explanation they sent them home and got to work.

Abbie checked Rachel's main desk again and found a large stack of file folders in the bottom drawer. She flicked through the ticked files and scanned the writing until the name of Drake Ribbs caught her eyes.

"We've struck gold with Rachel's research files, Jones!" she grinned pulling out one of the thicker files, "check these out."

Jones skimmed the contents, "so Rachel got a lot of cease and desist letters warning her to stop her investigation. The letters are all from the same man: General James Marsh but some of the letters are full-on death threats!"

"I think this warrants a little talk with this army general," Abbie smirked, "don't you think?"

"I've always wanted to meet a general," he snickered giving her back the file.

They tracked down the general to a building across town used for offices. They took the elevator up to the top floor and found the room which belonged to Marsh. They knocked on the oak door and it was opened shortly by the general himself.

"Ah, you must be the Detective who wanted to see me," Marsh greeted shaking Abbie's hand, |I'm just finishing a meeting with Mayor Johnson, I don't know if you've met before?"

Howard stood up with a light laugh, "why of course we've met! I was even there for Detective Abbie's promotion from the Industrial Area. I see you've come a long way since, Detective."

"Sorry to interrupt you, General," Jones apologized, "but we'd like to ask you a few questions in private, if we may."

"By all means, Detectives," Marsh said letting them in the office, "let me just see Mayor Johnson out and I'll be right with you."

General Marsh escorted Mayor Johnson out of the room and returned shortly. Abbie took the lead and explained to Marsh the situation and asked about the experiments Drake told them about.

"You're asking me questions about operations which have been classified top secret: I can't tell you a thing about them!" Marsh growled when she asked for more information, "that blasted journalist refused to quit asking questions, so I had to use every means necessary to make her stop!"

"Even if that meant threatening her with her life?" Jones asked with a glare.

He returned the glare with a sly smirk, "I don't even know why you're asking me these damn questions. You and I, we're on the same team, Detectives."

"Yet somehow I'm not entirely convinced that's true . . ." he muttered under his breath.

"We thank you for your time, General Marsh," Abbie smiled as she elbowed Jones, "but we have an investigation to return to."

"Of course, do not let me keep you from your job, good day, Detectives," Marsh replied seeing them out.

Back at the station . . .

"One murder, one secret lab, and a whole lot of mystery!" Jones whistled leaning back in his chair, "if only we knew what Rachel was getting herself mixed up in, maybe we could have stopped her . . ."

"Abbie, there's a voice message from Rachel Priest!" Ramirez yells as he ran in holding the recording machine, "it's, uh, a few days old . . . so, er, do you still want to listen to it?"

"What the-?!" Jones fell out of his chair is surprise, "of course we want to listen to it! RIGHT NOW!"

"Of course we still want to listen to Rachel's voice message, Ramirez," Abbie said much calmer, "even if it's old, it could help explain who injected Rachel with the mysterious drug!"

"I, er . . . Abbie, why don't you play Rachel's old voice message while Jones calms down?" Ramirez suggested setting the machine down on her desk.

She clicked the 'play' button, "hello Detective Abbie, it's Rachel Priest. I'm investigating a huge story implicating the army, and well, maybe I'm becoming paranoid . . . but I'm scared something bad is going to happen to me. In case I die, please keep investigating this. I've left you a more detailed video message in my office. It's on my tablet computer. I can't risk giving you the password, but I'm sure a pro like you won't have any problems hacking into it. One last thing, I'm convinced the company behind all this is Greene PharmaCorp, I just can't prove it yet. I'm counting on you, Detective Abbie".  ** _BEEEEEEEP!_**

"Oh, Rachel . . ." Jones sighed.

"Let's go search her office then," Abbie said trying to distract him, "and if Greene PharmaCorp really is behind this, then we better go talk to Alden directly."

"Oh, joy . . . my favorite CEO," he said the sass lacing his words.

"Come on," she laughed pulling him to his feet.

The detectives tracked down Greene first. They visited his office and were shown in by the secretary to the CEO's private office. Greene was relaxing in his desk chair with his ever present cigar and a glass of whiskey in his hand.

"Mr. Greene," Abbie greeted the man, "were investigating the death of Rachel Priest. We discovered that she was looking into Greene PharmaCorp helping the army to fund illegal experiments. Care to explain?"

"Rachel Priest was convinced Greene PharmaCorp is secretly developing some kind of huge deal with the army? And illegally so?" Greene had the nerve to look shocked, "that's absurd! Rachel pursued the wrong career: she should have been a fiction writer, not a reporter!"

"Sadly it's a bit late for a career chance for Rachel," Jones deadpanned, "and given how you didn't like each other, I'm guessing you're not too saddened by her death . . ."

"I don't like what you're insinuating!" he warned taking his cigar out to point it at them, "we had our differences, but I value human life above all else and I'll do anything to help you catch her killer."

"We appreciate that, Mr Greene," he said, "and in that case, Detective Abbie would like to search your office, if you don't mind."

Greene wave a hand around the room, "go ahead, I have nothing to hide."

The CEO stepped out of the room and left the detectives to do their job. Abbie set Hunter loose in the office and the dog sniffed around. She alerted on the carpet under Greene's desk and sat beside a strange blue stain.

"Nice job, Hunter!" Abbie praised, "the substance on this carpet looks like it belongs in a chemical plant or lab, not in a CEO's office!"

"Abbie, would you mind collecting a sample of this substance so that we can determine what it is?" Jones asked.

"Of course," she responded pulling out her tools.

The blue substance was still fresh and moist, who had left it here had deposited it recently. She pulled a nice sample from the fibers and dropped it onto a slide.

"Now let's take this substance from Alden's office carpet to Grace to see whether it's chemical based or not!" she says standing up.

"I hope it is," he smirked following her out.

Once they had dropped the blue sample off with Grace at the lab, Jones and Abbie returned to Grim News to look for Rachel's tablet. No one had been inside since they sealed off the building, so when Abbie cracked the lock of the center desk drawer, the tablet computer was right inside waiting for them to find it.

"So this must be the tablet computer that Rachel wanted us to find!" Abbie said pulling it out and pressing the on button.

"Are you ready to hack into it?" Jones asked.

"Always am," she smirked typing in the pass code.

The pass code was accepted on the second try and Abbie skimmed through the apps for the video diary. She found the app and pressed the icon and the most recent video came up.

"Rachel was right, her tablet computer didn't stand a chance against your awesome skills!" Jones laughed, "are you ready to check out the video message she made for us?"

"I'm way past ready," Abbie replied pressing the play symbol.

**_Video Diary_ : "Detective Abbie, if you're watching this, then it means I am no longer of this world . . . and presumably it is my investigation that got me killed. I've been investigating the development of an illegal serum. The serum transforms men into vile killing machines, and always against their will!"**

"This sounds familiar," Abbie commented.

"Reminds me of Nathan . . ." Jones muttered.

**_Video Diary_ : "I've been talking to an ex-military by the name of Drake Ribbs. He's the only living proof that the serum has secretly been tested on humans! But talking to Drake isn't easy: a side-effect of the serum is making him more and more violent. I admit, even I am scared of him sometimes."**

"Well that confirms what we suspected, Drake's behavior has been changed by the serum," Abbie said.

**_Video Diary_ : "The serum has already ruined thousands of lives, Abbie, you have to stop it before even more people are killed!"**

The video ended with Rachel's pleading face and a replay sign. Abbie turned the tablet off and slipped it into her bag.

"By the sound of it, even Rachel was beginning to realize that Drake was dangerous," Jones hummed, "I think it's time we check up on him!"

"Let's hope he's more willing to talk then Green was," Abbie said as they left the office.

_**Downtown . . .** _

"Drake, we were hoping you would talk to us about the military super serum," Abbie said sweetly, "we know how angry it must have made you."

"Why shouldn't I be angry?! One minute I'm the best soldier in General Marsh's unit, and the next minute I've become a MONSTER!" Drake yelled, Jones stepped in front of his partner, "General Marsh promised me I'd become even better, even stronger . . . but when I woke up looking like this, he threw me out of the army!"

"We know someone like you, maybe he could help? Jones suggested.

He snorted, "I can't find a job anymore. I bought a guard dog to try and get a job as a night watchman, but they said I'm too scary even for that! Life wouldn't be too bad if only I could hold my sweet Rachel again . . . but she's gone to a better place . . . and maybe I should follow."

"Don't say that Drake," Abbie hushed placing her hand on his larger bicep, "Rachel was trying to get your story told, don't let them win by adding what she started. Help us finish it, for her."

Drake sniffled, "she wouldn't have wanted me to do that . . ."

"No, she wouldn't," she smiled, "how about you go relax in the park? And when this case is over, I'll help you expose the army for what they did to you."

"Promise?" he asked.

"Promise," she vowed holding up her pinky.

Drake left them with a smile on his face and a slight bounce in his step. Jones and Abbie left the square and returned to the station where Grace was waiting for them with her results.

"So what was the substance on Greene's carpet?" Abbie asked the redhead.

"The substance from Greene's carpet is the same substance that killed Rachel! And I've never seen a substance like it in my life!" Grace exclaimed waving her clipboard in the air, "with the sample you gave me, I managed to replicate enough of the serum to test it on a mouse."

"What happened?" she inquired.

"As crazy as it sounds," she was wide eyed as she replied, "the serum turned the mouse into some kind of super strengthened monster that killed all of the other mice within seconds!"

Jones's jaw dropped, "oh my god, so you're telling us that the serum to create super soldiers really does exist?!"

She nodded, "and if the army got a hold of this serum, it would be worth billions of dollars!"

"How were they able to create this?!" Abbie gasped.

"I don't know if this will help, but one person who could have created this serum is a scientist called Kelly Speltz," Grace says handing them a sheet of paper about the woman, "she's famous for her unethical and more or less illegal experiments, such as the two-headed goat she created."

Jones pulled a face, "ugh, I can't believe there really is a sick gold rush to create a super serum going on underneath our city!"

"The people in the Financial Center will do just about anything to get rich," Abbie shook her head, "even if that means killing hundreds of people in the process!"

"Its disgusting," Grace agreed.

"But the only way to stop it, is to find out how it started," she continued.

"You're right, Abbs," Jones pounded his fist on the palm of his hand, "let's try and find out whether Kelly Speltz created this serum."

"Let me find her number . . ." she says reading the file.

When she found the scientist's phone number and called it. Abbie placed it on speaker just before Kelly picked up on her end.

"Hello?" Kelly asked.

"Kelly Speltz?" Abbie replied.

"Yes?"

"I'm Detective Abbie Murphy of the GPD, were investigating a case involving a super soldier serum," she explains, "we've have an anonymous tip that you might be the person who created it."

"You think I'm the one who created that super soldier serum? I'm flattered, Detective Abbie, but it wasn't me," she denied, "people don't recognize my genius often enough. They call my work inhumane and try to have me shut down."

"Such as?" she inquired.

"Such as that rotten reporter, Rachel Priest. She even tried to have me stop experimenting on animals!" she spat, "I don't even know what she's talking about! My latest guard dog has survived every single experiment so far."

"Good for them," she chewed out petting Hunter's head.

"No, people like Rachel don't realize I'm doing the work of God," Kelly sighed, "I'm trying to create a new better, stronger humanity!"

"We've heard that before," Abbie said, "and they didn't succeed, have a nice day, Dr. Speltz."

They both hung up the phone, Abbie used a little more force than necessary.

"I wonder how far Kelly is capable of going to make sure nobody stops her from continuing her sick experiments?" Jones pondered., "Let's keep a close eye on her . . . and we should probably call animal rescue for her guard dog."

"I'm already sending animal control an email," Abbie assured her fingers flying over the keyboard.

"Abbie, the mayor is on his way to talk to you, and you need to wait here until he arrives!"Ramirez yelled as he barreled into the room, "Chief's orders!"

"The mayor?" Jones cocked an eyebrow, "why on Earth would he want to talk to us, Abbs?"

"Well, we are investigating a murder which is tied to a super secret military experiment," Abbie snorted, "can't think of a single  reason as to why the Mayor would want to see us . . ."

"Funny. Let's rethink this: we found Rachel in a tub of acid after she was killed by an experimental serum," he rambled, "a serum which literally gives you super strength and could be worth billions in the hands of the army!"

"Or in the hands of a corrupt businessman," she chimed in.

"This case just keeps getting bigger and bigger . . ." he shook his head, "and now the mayor wants to talk to you, Abbie! C'mon, we shouldn't keep him waiting any longer."

"He's not here yet," Ramirez said.

Jones's smile fell, "right, I knew that . . ."

About ten minutes later the Mayor and a bodyguard arrived in their office. They pulled out a chair for him but Johnson shook his head.

"Ah, Detective Abbi, always a pleasure," Johnson smiled shaking her hand, "now, I've come here to help you save some time with your investigation!"

"How so?" Abbie asked.

"You're being horribly misled in thinking that General Marsh is a possible suspect in your murder case," he informed her seriously.

"Oh?" she questioned, "do continue."

"He's just been promoted as head of the army's chemical testing unit! And he hasn't come as far by making any mistakes." he continued to explain to her, "I can count on you, can't I, Abbie? It would be a shame not to have such a powerful man on our side."

"Of course," Abbie smiled, "we do not signal suspects out because of their positions in the world."

"Thank you for listening to me," Johnson smiled back, "I hope you solve your investigation, detectives."

They watched the Mayor and his bodyguard leave their office out of the elevator.

"Is it just me or is Marsh trying to use his political connections to get off the hook?" Jones asked watching the numbers decrease above the elevator doors.

"I hate when people do that," Abbie snarled shaking her head.

"Yo, I don't know if you play the stock market but Greene PharmaCorp has just announced it's soon going to sign it's biggest contract ever!" Alex informed strolling into the office, "the stock market has gone into a frenzy, and Greene PharmaCorp's shares are soaring! You need to hurry and cash in on it!"

"Oh my God, Abbie, what if Greene PharmaCorp's big contract is the serum?!" Jones gasped shaking his partner by the shoulders.

"Then he would be a very rich man!" she cried with a shaking voice.

"Alden told us he wasn't involved in the development of any such serum, but I think it's time to ask him again!" he suggested letting her go.

She steedy her feet, "and if the serum is for sale, then it wouldn't hurt to check the lab again."

"Can we wait until it gets a little lighter out?" he begged.

"Fine, we'll talk to Greene first," she sighed.

_**At Greene Headquarters . . .** _

"Greene PharmaCorp would never sign a deal with the army over such a serum: the human testing aspect of it . . ." Greene shook his head as he answered their question, "it's morally wrong!"

"So you  _do_  know about this serum?" Abbie asked,

He took a deep breath of cigar smoke and let it out, ". . .Years back, I was approached with an offer to develop the serum. I immediately turned it down and that was that."

"You've already lied to us once Alden, so how are we to believe you this time?" Jones questioned the CEO.

"Believe what you want but I'm growing tired of you  _and_ your base insinuations! Next time you come round uninvited, my guard dog will be waiting to greet you!" Greene promised.

"Well," he smirked, "I guess this is our last chance to search your office then."

He shuffled in his seat before he stood up to give them some room to work. Abbie gave him a suspicious look and went straight for the floor under his desk. She looked for what he had kicked and her hand enclosed around a cryptex which had rolled into the corner of the desk.

"Way to go!" Jones praised kneeling beside her, "now, what's a cryptex doing on Alden Greene's office floor? And it's not like I doubt you, but I don't think even you could crack this . . ."

Abbie smirked.

"Could you, Abbie?"

"I was solving Rubix cubes at the age of four."

Her hands and finger flew across the gears and symbols on the cryptex in a flurry of movements. Whoever had locked the cryptex hadn't done a very good job of making it hard. It clicked open and she pulled the cover off and a USB fell out into her hand.

"Wow, you truly are a marvel!" Jones laughed, "so that cryptex was hiding a USB stick which belonged to . . ."

"Rachel Priest," Abbie answered reading the name on the drive.

He blinked, ". . .RACHEL PRIEST?!"

"Wait a second," Greene spoke up after the detective's outburst, "that blasted cameraman of hers gave it to me! But I have no idea why: I didn't wait for an explanation and just threw the creep out!"

"What the heck?!" he cried even more confused, "did Carl actually the cryptex contained Rachel's USB stick and why on Earth did he give it to Alden?"

"I think we should let Carl answer these questions himself!" Abbie responded, "thank you for letting us look around, Greene."

"But here's a question even he can't answer," Jones continued as they left the building, "why did Rachel want to protect this USB stick so badly?"

"We have a little tech wizard who can find that out for us," she replied.

"Of course," he nodded, "and while he does that, I'll have Ramirez find Carl while we go to the lab."

After completing their first two tasks, they returned to the lab to finish the last one. They checked around the operating table and Abbie picked up a faded piece of paper while Hunter barked at a bin of chemical waste.

"This is gross," Jones wrinkled his nose when he saw what the K-9 found, "but we should search through that chemical waste. Just be sure to put your gloves on!"

"If I knew searching through chemical waste was part of this job," Abbie gagged, "I would have stuck with space."

"You still have time for a career change," he joked pulling on some long gloves.

"And let you have all the fun?" she laughed, "no way in hell!"

He smiled, "glad to know I have a partner who willing to risk her health. Can we be roommates when were in quarantine?"

"Sure," she replied, "there seems to be faint traces of writing on this sheet, but it's too faded to read."

"And check this broken syringe out," he says pointing to the broken object by the trash bin, "do you think this is the syringe Rachel was injected with?"

"Only way to know is to fix it and find out," she said as she dusted the paper.

"Congratulations, me, you've just found . . ." Jones narrator as he pulled his hand out of the bin, "a human nail?! Please, Abbie, get me a bag! I can't stand to look at it!"

Abbie laughed as she complied and shoved it into her shoulder bag, "this paper sheet was in fact a scientific formula . . . And look, the scientist even signed it with their initials: K.S! Don't we know a K.S?"

"You're right, this formula belongs to Kelly Speltz!" he deduced pulling off his gloves, "so she's the one who created the serum!"

"And do you realize this means Kelly was working in the exact same lab where Rachel was murdered?!" she asked waving her hand around the room, "it looks like it's game over for that "scientist"!"

"But first, can you take a look at the syringe?" he asked.

"Give me a second," she says putting on her own pair of gloves.

The small pieces of glass were hard to work with, but the detective manages to glue it back together and save most of the liquid inside the canister. She slipped it into a bag the into a box to protect it during transport.

"Awesome work!" Jones clapped her on the shoulder, "you restored that broken syringe from the crime scene in no time at all!"

"It'd be lucky if this turned out to be the syringe that Rachel was murdered with . . ." Abbie prayed grabbing their clues, "let's hurry and send it off to the lab, see what comes out!"

"And then find Speltz and get a confession out of her," he said as they exited the lab.

They dropped the syringe and nail off at Grace's lab where Ramirez informed them that Carl was waiting for them in the interrogation room. They thank him and went to go see what the cameraman had to say about the USB.

"Carl, you've got more than a little explaining to do!" Jones growled glaring at the other man, "we know you gave Rachel's USB stick to Alden!"

"I can explain!" Carl squeaked, "I knew the USB stick contained all of Rachel's research . . . and a lot of it was concerning Greene."

"But why sell it to Greene?" Abbie asked.

"My job paid nothing and I really needed the extra money . . . so I sold it to Alden. I didn't even make that much money!" he spat, "Rachel found out and fired me before I could even explain myself . . . None of this would have happened if she'd paid me properly!"

"I can't believe it, all that for a few dollars . . ." Jones shook his head in disgust, "poor Rachel, she couldn't even trust those closest to her."

"That's all for now, Carl," Abbie said opening the door, "we won't charge you for stealing the information."

They escorted Carl out of their office and to the elevator. Ramirez, Alex and Grace were waiting for them with their results.

"Ah, Abbie, I've finished investigating which of your suspects wear office shoes!" Ramirez informed going first, "I know Carl Ackerman bought a pair to help him in his job search since Rachel fired him. Alden Greene's shoes are amazing, and General Marsh threatened to kick me with his beautifully polished shoes . . ."

"Thanks for all the lengthy details, Ramirez," Jones laughed, "well, I hope this helps!"

"And I checked out that human nail you sent me from that secret lab. And surprise, surprise, it belonged to Rachel Priest," Grace told them, "but the nail wasn't ripped off. Instead it . . . popped off like a button on a coat when Rachel's body transformed after being injected with the serum!"

"That is fascinating and gross at the same time," Abbie paled.

"Because this nail didn't get destroyed in the acid bath, I was able to find skin cells under it!" she continued, "skin cells from your killer's head, actually."

"There head?" Jones questioned, "Rachel must have fought back with her killer then!"

She nodded, "and by analyzing those skin cells, I can now tell you that your killer is bald!"

"How about the syringe we sent you?" Abbie asked.

"About that syringe you got from the secret lab, I analyzed the residue inside it and it turns out it's the same serum that killed Rachel," Grace answered as she consulted her notes, "and there's more: there are traces of Rachel's DNA where the needle perforated her skin. Congratulations, you've found the murder weapon!"

"So we have a murder weapon, now we just need a killer," Abbie concluded.

"What's interesting is that I found faint traces of sebum oil on the glass casing of the syringe," she explains, "sebum oil which could have only came from your killer: You're lucky that the oil in the sebum kept this vital evidence from disappearing . . ."

"Why?" Ramirez inquired.

"Because we now know that your killer's a man!" Grace finished with a grin.

"Well that takes it down to two suspects," Jones hummed, "what did you find, Alex?"

The techie whistled, "wow, Rachel's USB contained the motherload of information, enough to seriously damage Marsh's reputation!"

"Really?" he asked.

"According to Rachel's research, Marsh was trying to develop a super soldier serum in the army . . ." he answered, ". . . But the army forced him to stop when they heard about his dangerous human test trials. Rachel was convinced that Marsh refused to give up on the development of his billion-dollar serum and secretly continued with the funding of Greene PharmaCorp."

"Which Greene denies fully," Abbie rolled her eyes.

"She believed PharmaCorp was on the point of a breakthrough and she wanted to stop him before he managed to sell the serum for mass production!"

"The mayor doesn't want us ruffling Marsh's feathers but that was before Marsh became our prime suspect!" Jones growled, "are you ready for this, Abbs?"

"Don't forget we need to talk to Kelly," Abbie reminded, "now let's go find them."

Jones and Abbie tracked down Kelly to a small lab located in an office building. They were shown into the bright sterile room with animal cages around the room and various monitors set up with results and scans.

"Kelly Speltz," Jones called over to the scientist, "we found a scientific formula with your initials on it in the lab Rachel was murdered in. I think you better get talking!"

"I'm insulted you find me stupid enough to fall for such a lame trap since it obviously doesn't prove anything!" Kelly snorted placing her flask down.

"Even so," Abbie cut in, "it  _does_  prove you created the serum that killed Rachel!"

"Oh my, you're telling me Rachel was injected with my serum?! I certainly hope not as the serum only works on men!" she gasped truly shocked, "I can't imagine the effects it would have on a woman . . . but I would have loved to have been there to see. A perfect opportunity wasted."

"Yes," she glared, "a murdered woman is truly a lost to science . . ."

"Look, I can tell your a logical woman," she says, "and as a logical woman, you must understand how hard it is for us to be heard in this world."

"I do," she narrowed her eyes, "but I won't use someone's death to be heard. Good day, Dr. Speltz."

The detectives stormed out of the lab before they could explode at the scientist. They returned to General Marsh's office, this time he wasn't in a meeting and saw them in immediately.

"General, we've discovered proof that you are developing a super serum and testing on humans," Jones got straight to the point.

"You got me!" Marsh cried holding his hands up, "I'm indeed developing a serum to efficiently create super soldiers! It's a scientific marvel, one of the ages."

"A marvel?!" he yelled, "It's a sick poison! When it doesn't kill, it turns you into a monster. I mean, look at Drake Ribbs!"

"It's regrettable what happened to Ribbs . . ." he admitted, "but when at war, you have to make sacrifices."

"But we're not at war," Abbie growled, "We're in the Financial Center where everything seems to run on blood money!"

"Shout what you want," Marsh shook his fist, "but once the serum is sold to the army, it will become top secret and any investigation into it will lead to your arrest. And there's zero chance you can find any direct proof before then, so in other words, Detective Abbie, you lose."

"We'll see about that," she vowed turning on her heels and marching out of the door.

"We can't say he's guilty of killing Rachel," Jones muttered, "but we can say he's guilty of a lot of other crimes!"

"But we still more proof to convict him," she spat.

"Yeah . . . sometimes I hate that fact . . ."

_**Back at the station . . .** _

"Abbie, I had some free time so I thought I'd give you a hand by searching the crime scene again," Ramirez says smiling proudly, "but, er, it was kind of spooky . . . So I searched around the abandoned factory instead and look what I found: a suspicious looking handkerchief!"

"A handkerchief?" Abbie questioned looking at the burned fabric.

"Abbie, can you please take a quick look at it?" he begged with puppy eyes, "I really do think it could be an important part of your investigation!"

"We're kind of busy with some more serious stuff than a "suspicious looking handkerchief" so you're lucky Abbs is willing to take some time out to help," Jones smirked putting air quotes around suspicious looking handkerchief, "then again, with Abbie's mad skills, analyzing this handkerchief will only take a few seconds!"

Abbie took the ripped and burned handkerchief from Ramirez and took a look at the stains on it. She pulled a sample from different spots on the fabric and got a good amount to analyses.

"Way to go!" Jones beamed, "let's send this sample from the handkerchief Ramirez gave us to Grace."

_**One handkerchief analyses later . . .** _

"You're not gonna believe this but the handkerchief Ramirez got from the abandoned factory actually belongs to your killer!" Grace exclaimed happily.

"What the . . .?!" Jones spat out the coffee he was drinking, "so Ramirez actually did some good detective work . . . Wow!"

Abbie rolled her eyes, "he's a better detective than you think he is . . ."

"You see, this handkerchief has been burnt from acid . . ." Grace explains, "the exact same acid that was used to dissolve Rachel's body!"

"And since we know she couldn't have used that handkerchief, only her killer could have lost it!" she deduced.

"Your killer got some acid on their lab coat so they used this handkerchief soaked with chemicals to stop it burning through . . ." she laughed, ". . . But you can't stop acid burning that easily, which is why, Abbie, your killer will now have a visible chemical stain on their clothes!"

"Thanks, Grace," Jones thanked the red-head, "this is the last mistake this killer is ever going to make! Abbs, are you ready to make the arrest?"

_**At Greene Headquarters . . .** _

"Alden Greene, you are under arrest for the brutal murder of Rachel Priest," Abbie informed with a wide smirk on her lips, "Anything you say or do can and will be used against you."

"I'm impressed, Detective Abbie," Greene says placing his hands behind his back, "you'll go far in this city . . . but you could go even further if we worked together."

"Don't try that trick with us, Alden!" Jones ordered, "unlike some people in this city, Detective Abbie has moral values!"

"The game is truly up, eh?" he took one last drag of his cigar, "well, Detective Abbie, as you were skilled enough to catch me, let me tell you the details of how it all happened . . ."

_**A couple of days ago . . .** _

**"As you correctly guessed Rachel, Greene PharmaCorp is on the point of signing a billion dollar contract with the army. This is my chance to not only rule the Financial Centre, but whole city . . . and you wanted to take that away from me?" Greene glared at the reporter strapped to the operating table, "sadly, Rachel, there's simply no place for people like you in this city: truth and honesty don't make money."**

**"Hurry up and kill her, Alden," Marsh ordered, "shut this blasted reporter up once and for all!"**

**"Well Rachel," he picked up the syringe, "since you've been so interested in our little serum . . . how about you experience it first hand?"**

**"Go ahead and kill me!" Rachel shouted and spat at their feet, "but one day the world will see you for the monster you truly are, Alden!"**

_**End of flashback . . .** _

"And that's what happened," Greene finished his tale.

"And Rachel was right," Abbie spat tightening the cuffs, "the world will see you for who you truly are, Greene."

"Let's get this bastard to the Courthouse, Abbie," Jones glared at the CEO, "you are going away for a long time, Rachel won."

_**At the Courthouse . . .** _

"Alden Greene," Judge Hall folded her hands as she stared down at the accused, "do you have anything more to say before you're sentenced for the murder of Rachel Priest?"

"Every emperor watched their empire fall sooner or later. I blindly hope that it would be different when I built mine, but alas . . ." Greene sighed.

"Your fault is not of having tried to build something, but of destroying everything good in this City," she says pointing her gavel at him, "you helped build the foundations that bred and encouraged greed, lust and senseless violence--"

"Oh, give me a break!"he cut her off, "people are rotten at their core: I just found a way to turn it into gold!"

"Enough! Alden Greene, for the gruesome and gratuitous murder of Rachel Priest, I sentence you to life imprisonment!" she decreed rapping her gavel, "as for you, General Marsh, as an accomplice to the murder, I also sentence you to life imprisonment!"

"Don't you realize I'm a national hero, not a criminal?! You're making a grave mistake!" Marsh cried as the guards led him and Greene away.

"I never thought Rachel's life would end this way . . ." Abbie breathed as they walked out of the courtroom.

"Rachel stood for truth and died for it: she refused to accept that people, no matter how powerful, could get away with their crimes," says Jones looking at the balanced scales on the floor, "but isn't it crazy how the promise of money can turn people into the worst kind of monsters?"

"I've lost so many people to it . . . that's why I take what I need, not what I want," she said as they met up with Ramirez, "I've learn to live with little."

"I think I need a break from the Financial Center, Abbie," he remarked.

"Abbie, great work on the case: I've already added it to my scrapbook of all your cases!" Ramirez beamed, "oh and the Mayor wants to see you!"

"Scrapbook?" Abbie smiled, "Rez, sometimes I wonder about you . . . but thanks, we'll go see him now."

_**In Chief King's office . . .** _

"Detective Abbie, this was an extremely trying case but you did a great job of it. I'm very proud of you!" King congratulated, "but your work in the Financial Center isn't quite done, however. Apparently, Mrs Speltz is experimenting on chimps, despite it being illegal. Try and find proof of it to arrest her."

"Gladly," Abbie responded.

"Additionally, ever since Drake Ribbs got injected with the serum he'd been sick, and with Rachel's death, I'm afraid he's more dangerous than ever," he informed, "I'd like you to check up on him."

"We're on it, Chief!" Jones saluted, "Abbie, I'd also like to check up on Carl. I know he betrayed Rachel, but still . . . they were close."

They left the station and drove over to the Grim News headquarters. None of the reporters had been in since they opened it back up, they heard that they were all helping to organize the funeral for Rachel. They found Carl in Rachel's old office staring at his boss's desk.

"Before you say anything," Carl spoke not looking away from the desk, "I know I did Rachel wrong by selling her to Alden, and I'd like to redeem myself any way I can. I owe her so much: everything I know if what Rachel taught me. She was an exceptional person, and her courage and determination had no limits."

Abbie smiled, "she wouldn't give up on a story."

He returned it, "so I'm not surprised CCN awarded her the CCN prize for Best Reporter of the year for her article on drug trafficking."

"That's great news," Jones announced, "she would have been so pleased . . ."

"CCN told me to find a parent of Rachel's in order to accept the prize. I wrote down her grandmother's number," Carl looked sheepish, "but I seem to have lost it."

"We're glad to see you're trying to make amends, Carl, so we're happy to help," he chuckled at the cameraman's flustered state, "Abbie, what do you say we start looking for the phone number here?"

Abbie stepped closer to the desk and started looking through the papers for the phone number. Most of the files were about old news reports and insurance reports, but she did find a notepad with the most recent page ripped out.

"I like the way you think, Abbie!" Jones whispered reading her mind, "instead of looking for the piece of paper Carl wrote the phone number on, we could just make a copy!"

"I don't understand why people don't do this more often," Abbie giggled looking for a pencil.

"Well, Abbs, let's see if your idea works," he handed her the cylinder of wood, "here's Carl's notepad, do you think you can etch out Rachel's Grandmother's phone number from it?"

"Is the grass green?" she smirked.

She scratched the pencil over the indents in the paper and Rachel's grandmother's phone number came into existence with the graphite marks.

"Thanks to you, Carl will be able to phone the grandmother and ask her to come and collect Rachel's award!" Jones cheered, "let's go tell him the good news!"

"Carl," Abbie called the man over, "we have the number you need."

"Oh great," Carl sighed in relief with a smile, "you've found Rachel's grandmother's phone number! I'm so relieved: I was afraid I would never find it and that the prize would never end up with her family."

"We're just glad to see Rachel finally get the recognition she deserved," Jones said, "and when you talk to Rachel's grandmother, please be sure to convey to her the deepest condolences of the Grimsborough Police."

"I won't forget," he promised, "but before you go, I feel Rachel would have wanted us to celebrate her award. What do you say we go eat a burger at Rachel's favorite restaurant in her honour?"

"Oh Rachel . . ." he sniffled, "I think I'm going to cry . . ."

"There, there . . ." Abbie cooed hugging him, "let's get you some cookies, that'll help."

After having a nice supper in Rachel's memory and honour, they bid Carl a goodbye and left to find a crazy scientist. When they checked in at Kelly's lab, they discovered that she had gone to the secret lab. The detectives rushed over to it to stop her from using the research on anyone else.

"Mrs Speltz," Jones got the woman's attention, "we've come to verify that you aren't illegal experimenting on chimps."

"What?" Kelly gaped, "you've got to be kidding!"

"When it comes to this, Detective Abbie never kids," he glared, "so if you don't mind, we're going to start our audit now."

She started to sweat, "er, you can't--"

"I'll take this room if you want to take the storage room," Abbie volunteered.

 _Jones_ : "Good thinking," Jones agreed, "you investigate this room and I'll take the other one!"

They split up while Kelly left the lab grumbling about an "invasion of her rights". Abbie and Hunter looked around the main lab but most of the papers and research were about the serum or other human data. The K-9 sniffed around the cages and tables and barked at a lab coat hanging

"We're looking for chimps, not lab coats, Hunt," Abbie laughed.

"Arf!" Hunter nudged her nose along the hem of the coat.

"Ah, my apologies Hunter," she bowed, "I hadn't noticed those hairs on the coat."

She used her tweezers and pulled off some of the coarse hairs off he white coat and slipped them into a zippy bag. As she finished up Jones returned to the room empty handed.

"I'm sure Grace will appreciate such a dense sample of these animal hairs from the lab coat," Abbie told him showing their find.

"Now, let's not waste any time and have Grace analyze them to see whether they're chimp hairs or not!" Jones replied, "since Kelly left, she can't try and deny it before we get the results."

_**After dropping the samples off . . .** _

They found Drake and his dog, Cerberus, walking along the park path through the soft snow. Kids were having snowball fights and building armies of snowmen around but paid the ex-military man no attention.

"Hi Drake," Jones waved at the man, "how are you feeling today?"

"I'm very weak," he answered in a soft voice, "the doctor at Grimsborough Hospital has informed me I'm suffering from cancer."

"I'm so sorry to hear that, Drake!" Abbie says sincerely, "is there anything we can do for you?"

"The doctors say they can cure me, but first they need my medical file to identify which chemical product I was subjected to," he explains, "but because the experiments on me were top secret, I can't get a hold of my medical file! But since Greene was involved, I'm sure he has a copy . . . if only I could access his office."

"Let us worry about that, Drake," Jones told the hulk, "Detective Abbie will access Mr Greene's office and find your medical file in no time!"

The detectives made their way to Greene's office and ordered the secretary not to touch his office until they had gone through it one last time. They checked all over the office but Greene had managed to get rid of most of his documents before they arrested him. But they did manage to find some shredded paper in the trash can.

"Drake's medical file is nowhere to be seen, so that shredded paper is our last chance!" Jones says as his partner pulled out the pieces, "Abbie, do you think you can piece it back together?"

"Were about to find out," Abbie answered grabbing the tape dispenser off of Greene's desk.

She laid the pieces out of paper on the ground, once they were all lined up she tapped the shreds together strip by strip. When it was finished they had a paper about Drake Ribbs and his military medical file.

"I knew you could do it!" he clapped her on the back, "now that you've restored Drake's medical file, the doctors will be able to use it to cure Drake's cancer!"

"Let's hope so," she replied.

They told the secretary that they may now clean out Greene's office of his things for whoever was stepping up to talk his place. They then walked back to downtown square where Drake and Cerberus were sitting at a park bench.

"Drake, excellent news!" Jones proclaimed, "Detective Abbie has found your medical file. All the information concerning your military treatment is in it!"

"Rachel was right, you're an exceptionally talented person!" Drake beamed taking the paper from them, "It's an honour to know you Detective Abbie."

"Take care of yourself Drake and don't hesitate to give us some news about your recovery," Abbie told him.

_**At the lab . . .** _

"Those hairs you got from the lab are chimp hairs! And it's sickening, but these chimps are being used for gruesome experiments!" Grace ranted fuming with anger, "I can't believe people are still testing on chimps when it's been banned in the United States since 2012! Abbie, you've got to arrest this person!"

"Don't worry, Grace," Abbie said, "I will make sure the person responsible gets their just dessert. In fact, we're going to see Kelly right away!"

They left the forensic lab and drove over to Kelly's lab. They found her typing at a computer and Abbie snapped with cuffs on her wrist before she could react.

"Mrs Speltz, the game is up!" Jones yelled, "we didn't think you could get any sicker, but we found chimp hairs on the lab coat in your lab! This proves that you've been illegally testing your experiments on poor, defenseless chimps!"

"Kelly Speltz, you're now under arrest for your crimes!" Abbie finished locking the cuffs.

"You can't arrest me, I'm doing the work of God!" Kelly argued struggling against them, "what are a few chimps' lives if I can save thousands of human lives?!"

"From what we've seen of your experiments, you've only ever managed to destroy lives, not save them," Jones growled, "you're not a scientist, you're a monster!"

They brought Kelly to the station and booked her in for animal testing and abuse. As they left the scientist in her cell, they were called into Chief King's office where they found him, the Mayor and the rest of their team waiting.

"Ah, Abbie, Jones," King closed the door behind his officers, "congratulations on an amazing case! Mayor Johnson wants to talk to you!"

"Detectives, I'm impressed with your flair. I'm glad you listened to your instinct rather than me when it came to James Marsh," Johnson congratulated, "you saw past the politics and saw him as a guilty man. I like your flair and could do with a Detective of your caliber in a new district."

"Abbie, what the Mayor is saying is you've been promoted to the Historical Center," he clarified, "congratulations!"

"I would also like to personally reward you and your team for their work on this case," the mayor continued picking up a long wooden box off of the Chief's desk.

He moved to Jones first, "David Jones, for your arrest of Alden Green and General James Marsh, I promote you to the rank of Inspector and award you with the Merit Award for Excellent Arrest."

He turned to Abbie, "to . . . Adalet Murphy-"

"Adalet?" Jones cut him off.

"Its my first name," Abbie explained, "Abbie is my middle one."

"For your arrest of Alden Green and General Marsh, I promote you to the rank of Lieutenant and award you with the Merit Award for Excellent Arrest," Johnson fashioned the medal to her chest as he had done to Jones.

He then went to Ramirez, "Eduardo Ramirez, for your work in this investigation, I award you with the Criminal Investigation Award."

"Alexander Turner," the mayor continued with the tech expert, "for you work as Tech expert in this investigation, I award you with the Criminal Investigation Award."

"Grace Delaney, for your work as forensics expert and analyzing the serum, I award you with the Criminal Investigation Award."

"And finally, Nathan Pandit," Johnson turned to the coroner, "for your work in discovering the serums involvement in this murder, I award you with the Criminal Investigation Award."

"Congratulations, officers," King smiled proudly at his team, "make me proud in the Historical Center."

"We will!" they all assured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Almost made it to my favorite district in the game, the Historical Center! We've reached the half way point of Grimsborough and time to deal with haunted houses, hunters and crazy killers.


	30. To Die of Not to Die

"Congratulations on your promotion,  _Lieutenant_ Abbie! Welcome to the Historical Center!" Chief King beamed proudly at his two officers, "ah, the Historical Center! Its little streets, its famous museums, its theater, its people . . ."

"I can't wait to visit the theater!" Abbie grinned ,"I wonder if it's as nice as the ones back home."

He chuckled, "Ah its people . . . People here are little . . . well, you'll see for yourself!"

"Finally! We really needed a change of scenery, Abbie!" Jones breathed stretching his arms, "we'll live the quiet life here, don't you think?"

And . . . que Ramirez bursting into the room.

"Abbie!" the field officer cried, "sorry to interrupt, but something happened at the Grimsborough Theater! The main actor is dead!"

"So much for peace and quiet . . ." he muttered.

"Well, it's a grim event, but it could be a nice opportunity for you to get accustomed to the district and its inhabitants," King says, "To the theater, officers!"

"I wanted to see the theater, but not like this!" Abbie exclaims as they left the office.

_**At The Grimsborough Theater . . .** _

"So, that's must be our victim . . ." Jones mused as he looked through the victim's wallet, " according to his ID, his name is Jacob Dawks. And according to his clothes, he must be an actor in this play."

"Actually, he's the male lead," Abbie clarified, "the theater is performing, "Hamlet", Jacob was playing Hamlet."

"How are you so knowledgeable with theater?" he asked.

"My cousin and I are obsessed with theater," she laughed, "back home we performed in so many plays and musicals, our walls were covered in posters!"

"The fall of the sandbag seems to have killed him on the spot . . ." Nathan informed them from his spot by the victim's head.

"Look," she picked up the frayed ends, "the rope holding has clearly been cut!"

"Which means this is not an accident, but a murder!" Jones deduced, "and the sandbag is our murder weapon!"

"I'll check it for any traces of evidence the killer could have left," Nathan promised, "if I find anything I'll send it over to Grace."

"Thanks, Nathan," Abbies says dropping the sandbag next to the gurney.

"As for witnesses, we're kind of shorthanded . . ." Jones scratched his hair, "I heard his co-star is still in her dressing room. Let's go talk to her, maybe she noticed something."

They made their way backstage and walked down the hall of dressing rooms and storage closets until they came across the two rooms reserved for the lead actors. One the left door was a star with the victim's name on it, while the door on the right's star read Sheila MacCarthy. They knocked on the door and the woman ripped it open.

"What is all the noise?!" Sheila demanded with all the vocal force of an opera singer, "I need calm, I'm trying to work! Can't you understand that? I need to focus on my lines!"

"And hello to you too, Madam," Jones deadpanned, "you do realize Jacob Dawks has just been killed?"

"Yes, it's very sad and all that . . ." she waved her hand as if to banish the affair. Then a look of distraction on her face, "wait a minute, did you see Mr Fine on your way in? He's the stage director, I need to see him!"

"Sorry Ma'am, but we didn't," Abbie answered.

"But now that you mention it," Jones hummed, "I think we should have a little talk with him. So it'll take a little more time before you see him."

"Why would you bother him?!" Sheila growled, "why don't you go see what Jacob was up to? You should take a look at his flat. I heard he had a tendency to . . . work extra hours with some of the younger cast members . . ."

"Well, I'm not one to gossip, Abbie," he says to his partner, "but it might be actually be worth a look." "Sorry to have you bothered, Miss MacCarthy."

Shelia just huffed and slammed the door in their faces. The officers continued down the hallway, Abbie in the lead and they found the stage director's office at the end. They knocked twice and shortly thereafter, a man opened it.

"Phineas Fine? I'm Lt. Abbie and this is Inspector Jones," Abbie introduced them, "we're the officers in charge of Jacob's murder."

"I hope you don't intend to question me for too long, officers," Phineas replied shaking their hands, "as you noticed, my main star just died, and I need to find a replacement for tonight's performance!"

"What?!" Jones shouted, "because you actually intend on performing today? Are you insane?"

"Are you kidding?| he gapped, "since the news broke out, the performance has been sold out! Nothing brings people out like the thrill of the macabre!"

"Which makes you a very good suspect for Jacob Dawks' murder," Abbie argued, "with the motive to match."

"Except that if I don't find him a replacement, I'll have to refund all those tickets, and it will destroy my reputation! I'll never find work in this town again!" Phineas exclaims pulling at his hair, "my work is everything to me, Officers. I wouldn't gamble my career on such a mad scheme. But I have to make the most of the situation I am given. The show must go on!"

"Are all theater geeks like thi?" Jones asked as they walked out of the theater.

"No!" Abie defended with a pout, "some of us are just more . . . passionate about their work."

He snorted, "passionate. . . right . . ."

"Whatever," she rolled her eyes, "let's just go over to Jacob's flat. We might find more clues there."

_**At Jacob's flat . . .** _

"Y'know, considering the fact that our victim had the first role to play . . . I kinda expected his room to be fancier!" Jones remarked lifting the dirty comforter on the king sized bed, "I guess being an actor doesn't pay as much as I thought."

"It depends," Abbie says going through the dresser, "I only did it part time, winter and summer. But the full time actors could make a nice sum if the play was popular."

"I suppose it makes sense," he nodded, "let's look through a mess. Maybe we'll find something from one of Jacob's conquests. Brave heart and all that . . ."

She laughed as she turned to check out the rest of the room. The floor was covered in empty pizza boxes, old news papers and dirty clothes. She moved the filthy items aside and found a tron up playbill hidden under it all.

"Look Jones, these papers are all torn up!" Abbie called over, "Jacob must really lashed out on it . . ."

"Do you think you can restore it, Abbie?" he asked dropping the bed sheets, "I think it could give us some valuable info."

She found her roll of tape and pieced together the playbill bit by bit. When it was together they saw that it was a playbill for "Hamlet" with the main actors, and stage direct's names on it,

"Good job restoring the playbill, Abbs!" Jones grinned, "maybe we'll be able to see why Jacob was so angry at it."

"Look!" Abbie pointed at a faded part of the playbill, "apparently there's something written on it! But I can't read it . . ."

"Can you take a look at it?" he asked.

"I'll try," she said looking for her carbon powder.

Once she had found it she dusted the powder across the paper to reveal a note made on it recently.

"It says, 'Nellie Appleton, 7AM, G. Theater' . . ." Abbie read off the note.

"Wait, that's the time and place of the murder!" Jones exclaims in shock.

She read the paper, "the playbill says that Nellie Appleton is an actress in the play. We have to talk to her immediately."

"I'll ask Ramirez to bring her in while we head back to the station," he offered.

When they got back to the station, Ramirez informed them that Nellie was waiting for them in their interrogation room. They grabbed the playbill and entered the room where the actress was sitting in her chair. Abbie placed the playbill in front of her to see.

"Miss Appleton, what is your relationship with Jacob Dawks?" Abbie asked taking a set across from Nellie.

"Relationship?" Nellie looked slightly confused Well, we're coworkers, I'm an actress in the play he headlines. Not a major role, but I hope it's gonna help my career . . ."

"You were scheduled to have a meeting with Jacob Dawks this morning, is that correct?" Jones inquired.

"What . . . Wait a minute, what are you implying?" she asked looking between the two, "because I didn't go to that meeting this morning, this man was . . . improper!"

"What do you mean? What did he do?" Abbie asked.

"He . . ." Nellie took a deep breath and started again, "he was always trying to get me alone, saying he could help me if I just gave him a little something . . . He wanted to see me this morning, yes, but I never went!"

"Well unless something else comes up, we are done for now," Abbie said standing up and guiding the younger woman out.

When Abbie and Hunter came back into the office, Jones had made them each a fresh cup of coffee.

"From what can I see, no one's gonna really miss Jacob . . ." he murmured into his mug, "it's kind of sad, when you think about it."

"Abbie," Ramirez poked his head into the room, "there's a nice old lady who would like to see you, she said she might help you in your investigation."

"Well, I don't really see how, but it can't hurt to hear her out," Jones shrugged, "lead the way, Rezzy!"

Ramirez brought the officers to the lobby where they saw a small woman bundled up in hand knitted clothes and a parka. In her hand was a fairly large tin with a cute snowman design on the cover and snowflakes around the side.

"Lt. Abbie, Inspector Jones, meet Margaret Littlewood," Ramirez introduced them.

"Hello, Ma'am," Jones greeted her, "what can we do for yo--"

"Hello young man! Do you want a cookie?" Margaret asked popping open the tin, the chocolate chip cookies were still warm and the scent of chocolate and vanilla filled the room, "I made them myself in this morning! Here, take one, you look so thin, my poor boy!"

"Well, ermm . . ." the inspector's mouth was watering like Pavlov's dogs, "just one then, and you tell Lt. Abbie what you saw this morning at the theater."

"Nice to meet you, Lt. Abbie!" she shook the woman's hand after giving the tin to Jones, "I was going to the theater this morning, to make some tea for the cast like I always do. I had my make up on, I was ready to go! But Astrid, that's my dog, a beautiful little Maltese, she's just a doll, was feeling down, so I took her to the doctor, my poor baby. Do you want another cookie, Officer Jones?"

"Don't mind if I do!" Jones said through his already full mouth, "thanks a lot, Miss Littlewood!"

"Now I'm just a little confused," Abbie brought the conversation back, "if you didn't even go to the theater, what did you want to tell us?"

"Well, I wanted to see our two new shining officers, of course!" Margret laughed, "I'm not disappointed, I'm sure you and Inspector Jones will adapt to or little district most wonderfully!"

Abbie smiled, "thank you for the warm welcome, I hope we get to see you again. I think my partner would enjoy it."

Jones pushed his eating, "wha se sad."

She rolled her eyes, "swallow then speak, Jones."

Margret chuckled, "that's how you know people enjoy your cooking, well I better be off. I have to pick up little Astrid from the vet."

"I hope she's feeling better!" Abbie called as the woman walked out of the station.

"These are amazing!" Jones grinned with his chocolate cover teeth.

Abbie sighed, "let's just go see Nathan . . ."

_**In the morgue . . .** _

"Hey, there Avi!" Abbie caught the kid as he jumped into her arms, "what are you doing here?"

"I'm writing about what mommy does for school!" he grinned flashing his missing front tooth, "don't tell him, but I want to bring some of his tools in to show the class."

She giggled, "I won't, but you might want to ask mommy before you do that."

"So what did you find, Nathan?" Jones asked handing Avi a cookie.

"Well, everything happened exactly as you thought," the coroner answered, "Jacob Dawks got crushed by the sandbag and died instantly. But I noticed the bag was ready to crack, which means it's been lested with far more weight it could handle. It can't have been there for more than a couple of hours!"

"I take it you found something on it?" Abbie asked shifting Avi to her hip.

He nodded, "I found some make-up powder on the bag and there was no trace of it on the victim itself. So I can assure you that your killer wears makeup!"

"Which means we're looking for a woma--"

"Wait a second, Jones!" Nathan cut him off, "don't forget that in theater, both male and female performers use makeup! Don't let gender norms impact your investigation!"

Jones blushed, "I knew that . . ."

He rolled his eyes, "uh-huh, I'm sure"

"Stop rolling your eyes, it give me vertigo," he gagged.

He rolled his eyes again with a smirk.

"Was there anything else you found on the sandbag?" Abbie asked.

"There was trace amounts of some sort of liquid, so I sent it up to Grace to analyse," Nathan replied, "she should have the results by now."

"We'll go check in with her," she replied setting Avi on the ground, "bye, Avi!"

"Bye, auntie Abbe!" Avi waved them off.

_**In the Forensics Lab . . .** _

"Nathan said that he sent you a substance to analyse?" Jones inquired.

"There nearly wasn't enough liquid on this sandbag for analysis," Grace informed, "I must say I'm impressed he managed to take out even that much!"

"Well, what can I say, this team could find a needle in a haystack on the first try!" he laughed, "so, could you analyze that substance properly?"

"Yes," she agreed with a chuckle, "and I managed to detect ethanol molecules, the same kind you find in wine-based products. After further analysis, I can affirm you that whoever puts those weights there drinks wine!"

"Well being drunk doesn't excuse murder," Abbie smirked, "I hope they don't enjoy it too much."

"I hear wine is hard to come by in jail," Jones added.

They left Grace's lab and returned to their office to update their case file.

"Have you tried one of Miss Littlewood's cookies, Abbie?" Jones asked, "they're delicious! I could eat them all day!"

"No," Abbie shook her head,  _"someone_  ate them all! And aren't you forgetting something?"

He flushed, "which is something that I'm  _not_  gonna do because we're in the middle of an investigation, of course Abbs! It was just a figure of speech! Let's focus on the case, now, shall we?"

She snorted and shared a look with Hunter.

"We still don't know who released the sandbag on Jacob's head at the theater. We have to find out who might have had access to it," he started the recap, "I noticed Galloway's Antique Shop landed some props to the theater especially for this play. It might be worth a look, don't you think?"

"Oh! I love antique stores!" she answered grabbing her coat, "let's go!"

When they got to the antique store the bell above the door jingled to alert the owner to their arrival. But nobody came into the store from the back to greet them.

"It really is a beautiful shop, don't you think?" Jones asked, "too bad the owner's still not here, I wanted to ask him a few questions . . ."

"About the case, or redecorating your house?" Abbie asked looking at the paintings on the walls.

"Ha ha, you're just jealous that my room is better than yours," he smirked, "But since he's not here, he won't complaint if we have a little look around . . ."

They started looking through all the antiques with delicacy and care to not damage them. Abbie picked up a stack of papers off of the Victorian style coffee table and pulled out a recent newspaper clipping.

"I love this shop!" Jones announced examining a intricate looking statue of . . . someone, "all these antiques, all those old things . . . Why did you pick that boring stack of papers first, Abbie, when we're surrounded with so many cool things!"

Abbie opened her mouth to answer but something caught her partner's eye.

"Wait! I see someone coming in . . ." he squinted as the figure drew closer, "oh, that's Miss Littlewood! I wonder if she still has some cookies left . . . Let's say hi!"

She just sighed and shook her head as he opened the door for the old woman. Margaret tapped the snow off her boots on the mate and this time she was accompanied by a small Maltese with a pink ribbon in her fur.

"Hello Miss Littlewood! I didn't expect to see you again so soon!" Jones said.

"Hello Officers!" Margaret greeted them, "it's always a joy to see you, of course, don't you know I was just thinking I could pass by the station this afternoon! I made an apple pie this morning, and I thought you would like it, you're working so hard to protect us, it's normal to show you how much we value your work."

"You don't have to do that," Abbie assured.

She waved her hand, "but I came here because, as I was leaving the theater, I noticed a box of props was missing, it was supposed to be taken back to the shop, but I just wanted to make sure that it was here."

"It seems interesting, don't you think Abbie?" Jones asked, "you should take a look through the shop to look for it. Thanks for the tip, Miss Littlewood."

"Oh, it's nothing Officer Jones, you're so nice!" Margaret, "I'll make you an even bigger pie, but hush! It's just between you, me and Lt. Abbie!"

"So, Margaret, can you tell us a bit more about the box we're looking for?" Abbie asked.

"Well, it's big, quite massive really," she thought, "and old wooden box! You can't miss it, it's filled with theater props!"

"Don't worry, nothing escapes Lt. Abbie's sight!" Jones boosted, "if it's here, it will be found!"

Abbie walked behind the counter and pushed a box that matched the description out from behind it.

"Is it the box you were talking about, Margaret?" Abbie asked, "the one at the theater at the time of Jacob's murder?"

"Yes! That's the one!" Margaret clapped, "what amazing skills, Lt. Abbie, I'm really impressed!"

"It's filled with so much stuff, it's unbelievable . . ." Jones Pulled out some of the props, "let's take a look at it, Abbie!"

They got on their knees as Margaret bid them a good day and left the store. They dug through all the different props, most were from older plays but there was some of the props from Hamlet mixed in.

"Look at these props, Abbie!" Jones yelled pulling on a eye-patch, "it's just so awesome! Look at me! Aaargh, gimme a bottle of rum, me matie!"

"I'm not smuggling rum for you," Abbie rolled her eyes with a small smile on her lips.

"Ehm, yes," he coughed and pulled the eye-patch off, "back to the case . . . I always thought that theater props was fake, but these look quite real! Here, take that knife for example. It could hurt someone, or . . ."

"Or cut a rope!"she gasped ripping it out of his hands.

"You're right, it could cut a rope!" he agreed, "we have to send it to Grace right away!"

"But first, take a look at this," she said handing him the newspaper clipping and bagged the knife.

"This is a review of one of Jacob Dawks' performances!" he skimmed the paragraph, "it's signed D.G., like Desmond Galloway, the owner of this shop! I didn't know he wrote theater reviews . . . Look, he's coming in! Let's talk to him!"

The antique store owner came in from the back room with a box of jewelry in his hands. He set it on the counter and shook their hands as they made the introductions.

"Hello Officers, come in, we have everything here!" Desmond proclaimed, "anything you want, you name it, I have it!"

"Mister Galloway," Abbie held up the newspaper clipping, "we found this theater review about--"

"Maybe you're looking for a stylish clock for the police station?" he interrupted pointing to a wooden cuckoo clock, "maybe a new chandelier for your flat, or a beautiful doll for your niece? Can I show you the splendid vase, it's a very rare item!"

"Break it off, Galloway!" Jones ordered, "we found this theater review about a performance headlined by Jacob Dawks. Did you write it?"

"I quite like that review," Desmond scoffed, "it's the perfect balance of disdain and disgust! Just what this god-awful infamy deserved!"

"Was the play that bad?" Abbie inquired.

"I hated that play," he scowled, "and Jacob Dawks was just dreadful in it. How that man managed to find work for so long is beyond me. I abhorred Dawks' acting, and he didn't take it so well."

"Well actors value their work highly," Abbie responded, "thank you for you time, Mr. Galloway."

"We'll have to keep Galloway in check," Jones whispered as they left the store, "he seems to take Jacob Dawks' death a little too lightly. He depicted himself as a perfect suspect!"

"I think that's all Desmond is gonna tell us for now," Abbie replied as the wind blew in her face, "we should try looking somewhere else, maybe go back to Jacob's place."

"It'll help us get a picture of the man himself, and maybe we'll find something to point us in the right direction!" he agreed as they got into their car.

_**Back at Jacob's flat . . .** _

"Did this guy ever throw anything away?" Jones wrinkled his nose as he went through the garbage, "some of these things are older than me!"

"And that's saying something," Abbie joked going through the drawers again.

"Hey! I'm not that old!" he protested, "this letter is all torn up, why would he keep it here? We should see if we can put it back together . . ."

"Here's some tape!" she tossed it over her shoulder.

He caught it easily and started to tape the letter up. While he did that, Abbie continued to go through the drawer which was overflowing with clothes, papers, and candy wrappers. She pulled out all the trash and found a picture stuffed in the back.

"Why would Jacob Dawks keep a photograph of Phineas and Nellie?" Abbie asked.

"Where the hell would he get a picture like that?" Jones asked back seeing the two kissing.

"I'd like to talk to Phineas, but it's impossible to get a hold of him, with this crisis to handle . . ." she mused, "let's go see if Nellie has something to say about this."

Look at this, Abbie!" he yelled waving his repaired letter, "'It's over between us', signed Sheila . . . This name sounds familiar, maybe one of Jacob's old conquests?"

"Or it could be Sheila MacCarthy," she suggested.

"Oh you're right!" he slapped his forehead, "It must be Sheila MacCarthy, Jacob's co-star in the play! Why did she keep that detail from us? I think it would be wise to go talk to her again!"

_**At the theater . . .** _

They found Nellie in the extracts dressing room fixing her cloak and her hair under it.

"Miss Appleton," Abbie knocked on the door frame, "I believe you've been in a relationship with Mr Fine at some point?"

"How do you know that?" Nellie gulped whirling around to face them, "we just went on a couple of dates, and we broke it off amicably. We kept it quiet, since Phineas is married and everything . . . Did he tell you about it?"

"No Nellie," she replied holding up the picture, "we've found a picture of you two inside Jacob Dawks' room. Do you know how he could have gotten it?"

"Oh, the filthy pig!" she spat, "I can't believe it! He took a picture of us and tried to sell it for a ridiculous price. We refused, of course, and we thought that he had destroyed it."

"You had no idea he still had it?" Jones asked to make sure.

"I didn't know he was keeping it . . ." Nellie affirmed, "what was he gonna do with it, blackmail us for money? Blackmail me into sleeping with him? God, I need some wine, this is so messed up!"

"We don't know what he intended to do with this, but we can say that whatever it was, he won't be able to do it now," Abbie told her slipping the photo into her bag.

They left the large dressing room and walked down the hall to the lead actress' room and knocked. Sheila threw it open as she rushed around the room like a hurricane.

"Miss MacCarthy," Abbie says trying to get her attention, "we need to ask you a few more questions about--"

Hush, mortal! Relish in the beauty of theater! Which could be a lot of more beautiful if I could find my makeup, where the hell can it be?" Shelia grumbled and pushed past them, "Nellie! Can I borrow your make-up, darling? Where is that girl? Oh! Maybe Phineas has still some make-up left! I should look into that."

"You'll worry about your make-up problem later!" Jones informed her, "we learned that you and Jacob used to be quite close, back in the day. Why did you keep that detail from us?"

"What do you want me to say? I left Jacob a long time ago. I left him because he cheated on me. It's as simple as that," Shelia answered with a shrug, "but no one betrays Sheila MacCarthy without consequences! Jacob and I have been at war ever since, rumors, backstabbing, you name it! So no, I won't grieve Jacob. He doesn't deserve it."

"Even if he didn't deserve it, your words are making you highly suspicious," Abbie says, "we will be leaving now."

_**Back at the station . . .** _

"Great catch, guys!" Grace grinned, "the knife you found at the antique shop was used to cut the rope that held the sandbag! I found matching fibers on the blade!"

"If there were fibers on the blade, then there must be something on the handle!" Abbie reasoned.

She nodded,"I examined the handle, and I found molecules used in anti-aging cream! Which means your killer had it on their hand when they used the knife!"

"Thanks a lot Grace! So we're looking for someone who uses anti-aging cream, in addition to make-up . . . they're quite alike," Jones hummed, "it won't make our investigation easier."

"Well, I like a challenge," Abbie laughed.

"So, the bottom line is that everyone in theater company is glad that Jacob Dawks is dead," he grumbled, "how are we supposed to find the one that's happier than the others?"

"Well, at least we're sure that they won't perform tonight," Grace offered, "that would be mad--"

"Well, goodnight everyone, I'm off!" Ramirez wazed his cane as he walked past dressed up to the nines.

"Ramirez," Jones grabbed the shorter man's collar, "where the hell are you going dressed up like that?"

"To Grimsborough Theater, of course!" he answered like it was obvious, "Mr Fine offered tickets for tonight's performance to the entire station! Didn't you get one?"

"Ramirez," he deadpanned, "in case you didn't notice, we're investigating the lead actor's murder. So there's no need to be all proud of your free tickets. There won't be a performance!"

"That's what I thought so too, so I called the theater to check, and they told me that everything was going down as scheduled!" he explained, "Mr Fine is stepping in as the lead!"

"You mean they're gonna play on our crime scene?!" Abbie yelped.

"Quick," Jones grabs his coat, "let's stop them before they destroy the evidence!"

**_Backstage . . ._ **

"Everyone stops right here!" Abbie ordered as her, Hunter and Jones ran in with guns drawn, "no one will perform anything until we've found out who killed Jacob!"

"Are you insane?!" Phineas cried in full costume, "you're going to destroy my life's work! This performance was sold out, that never happened!"

"Jacob's dead, who cares who killed him?" Shelia shrieked, "you're the only thing getting between me and the stage, and I really wanted to go on stage!"

"I know you're trying to help, Officers," Nellie spoke trying to be reasonable, "but can't it wait until after the show?"

"NO!" Jones shouted, "no one's getting on that stage until Lt. Abbie has finished investigating! Now break it off!"

The cast grumbled and groaned but walked off the stage. While Jones stepped past the curtain to inform the audience that there would be a slight delay, Abbie and Hunter started looking around for clues. The Muslim climbed the ladder up to the catwalk and walked along the floating platform. She reached the area above where Jacob's body had been found and looked up.

"Abbie?!" Jones yelled, "where are you?!"

"Up here!" Abbie shouted down, "look! This is the missing part of the rope that used to hold the sandbag that killed Jacob Dawks! We should send it to Grace for further analysis!"

"If you can get it down!" he replied, "and we still have our divas to talk to . . . Let's interrogate Phineas and Sheila. I believe they're still holding some things from us!"

"Really?! I hadn't noticed!" she said with extreme sarcasm.

Abbie grabbed the end of the rope and pulled out a pocket knife and cut the end above the pulley. She bagged it on her way down the catwalk and Jones and her went to talk to Phineas first.

"What do you want?" Phineas slurred with a glass of wine in his hand, "can't you let a man drink himself to death?"

"The faster you help us, the faster you're on stage, Phineas," Abbie replied, "so tell us anything you saw that might help us."

"You know what I see?" wine sloshed out of his glass as he waved his arms around, "I see . . . refunds, by the dozen. I see a talented playwright directing elementary school plays for the rest of his life!"

"That's not what I-"

"I see a disrespectful man who wouldn't bother coming to rehearsals. I see a self-centered ass who thought he could do my job better than me!" he spat and refilled his glass, "well, we'll never know about that, but we're gonna find out if the opposite is true! Where's my anti-aging cream? I can't go on stage with that many wrinkles!"

"And you can't go on stage drunk!" Jones growled, "go sober up, and maybe by then we'll have caught the killer!"

Phineas staggered off to somewhere backstage signing an off-key drunk version of "Fiddler on The Roof." they left him to sober up and found Sheila fuming in her dressing room . . . again.

"O speak to me no more; these words like daggers enter my ears;--"

"I beg your pardon?" Jones asked confused by the woman's words.

"I'm trying to stay in character!" Sheila shouted, "and you're not helping! Now what do you want? I told you everything I know! Could this day get any worse? First, Nellie finishes my anti-aging cream, then Jacob gets himself killed, and now this ignoramus is keeping me from the stage!"

"I see you've got your priorities straight," he rolled his eyes, "have a nice day, Madam."

"I'm not sure if that's possible," Abbie remarked as the door was once again slammed in their faces.

"God, those two couldn't be more annoying if they tried!" Jones sighed as they walked down the stage to the audience, "we won't be able to get much more from them!"

"The stress of the spotlight is a terrible thing," Abbie hummed.

"Hey, wait, look!" he held up his arm to stop her from moving, "isn't that Desmond Galloway in the audience? I thought he hated the play . . . Let's go talk to him!"

They maneuvered their way through the audience and sat down in the two empty seats on either side of the critic.

"Is everything alright, officers?" Desmond asked, "the play is running late, is there a problem?"

"No, Mister Galloway, there's no problem at all," Abbie lied, "I didn't expect to see you here, I thought you didn't like the play?"

"Well, I didn't hate that play as much as I hate Dawks' performance," he explained, "with him gone, I'm sure the play is perfectly bearable!"

"Well you'll have to wait before you can give the play a review," she says, "until his killer is caught, we can't allow the show to go on."

"Well then, if you're still investigating, I'll go to the theater lobby and have a glass of wine," he decided grabbing his coat, "I'm pretty sure Margaret must already be there."

"Desmond seems a little too happy about this . . ." Jones whispered once the man was gone, "maybe bashing Jacob on paper wasn't enough anymore . . ."

"Well, he doesn't use makeup of anti-aging cream," Abbie argued.

"In any case, he's still suspicious," he replied, "let's take another look at his shop while he's here. I don't think anyone will interrupt us, but we have to be fast. We have an entire theater waiting for us!"

_**The Antique Shop . .**._

"Look, Abbie!" Jones cried pointing to an object on the shelf, "you remember this skull? It's the one that was next to Jacob Dawks when he died!"

"But how did it end up in Desmond's hop?" Abbie questioned taking it down.

"Oh my god," his eyes widened, "it must have fallen off when we sent the body to the lab!"

"How did we not notice?" she paled.

"And look, there's something on it . . ." he squinted at the powder on top of the skull, "quick, let's check it out!"

They took a closer look at the top of the skull and found a thin layer of powder on it. Abbie dusted of a sample of it into a petri dish and snapped the cover over it.

"This powder on the top of the skull looks like make-up," Abbie commented.

"I'm sorry for the audience waiting at the theater," Jones grinned, "but they'll have to wait until we analyze it! Let's send it to Grace right away!"

_**Two analyses later . . .** _

"Alright, Grace, we have an theater full of people waiting for a performance, so lay it on us!" Jones says.

"I analyzed the fibers that were tangled up in the rope," Grace started, "they're actually animal hairs!"

"What? Do you mean we have to incriminate a cat?" he asked, "I knew they were just waiting to take over the Earth!"

Abbie face-palmed.

"Sorry Jones, not yet!" Grace laughed, "I would have preferred it, to be quite honest! Because those hairs have been treated to worn. Which means your killer is a monster who wears fur!"

"I won't even touch that stuff!" Abbie cringed, "it makes me sick!"

"Well, in nicer news, that powder you found on the skull is identical to the make-up you found on the sandbag!"

"Wait a minute," Jones chimed in, "I just don't get it. Why would the killer take that skull and put it at Galloway's shop?"

"Well, what better place to hide a skull in an antique shop?" Grace asked, "and from what I found, your killer had good reasons too!"

"What did you find?" Abbie asked.

"I found very small traces of DNA on the skull, not enough to be analyzed properly," she explained, "but I compared them to the DNA I could find on the sandbag, and they're a match! So now, I have enough DNA to get something out of it! And the analysis confirmed that your killer is 45 years old!"

"Only one person fits the profile!" Abie smirked, "and  _he_  won't be happy."

"Here we are, curtain call!" Jones declared, "let's put our killer behind bars!"

_**Back at the theater . . .** _

"Your run is over, Phineas!" Abbie forenamed the man as she put the cuffs on him and Jones read the director his rights, "the only thing you'll be directing now is the prison's theater club!"

"Can't you understand?" Phineas begged, "Jacob was ruining the play! No one can ruin my play without paying the price!"

"So why not just fire him?" she inquired.

"He wouldn't leave! He just wouldn't leave! I tried firing him a dozen times, but Jacob's contract was iron-tight!" he replied, "he was so bad, so dreadful, every tone wrong, every gesture misplaced, I can't understand how anyone could have hired that man before!"

"So you killed him?!" she cried.

"He had to be replaced or the theater company would be bankrupt before the end of the month. Look how right I was! The performance was sold out!"

"This is madness!" Jones yelled.

"This is THEATER!" Phineas shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Call it what you like, but your going away for murder!" Abbie told him.

"But what about the show?!" Sheila demanded, "we can't performed hamlet without Hamlet!"

"The theater is pack! I even saw people standing in the back!" Nellie added, "we can't not give them a show!"

"Any ideas, Abbs?" Jones gulped.

Abbie thought for a second," you take Phineas to Court, I have an idea . . ."

_**At the Courthouse . . .** _

"Phineas Fine," Judge Hall addressed the convicted, "please stand up for the court!"

He remained seated, "I'm sorry, but your stage directions are quite dreadful, absolutely devoid of emotions and power! You could use some advice."

"Stop fooling around, Mr Fine! You are judged here on account of first degree murder!" she reminded, "you've planned the murder of Jacob Dawks, just to get yourself out of a contract! Do you realize the gravity of your actions?"

"Excuse me, Your Honor, but I should be given a medal," Phineas smirked, "I saved the world of theater from its most dreadful tumor!"

"No one deserves a medal for murder," she glared, "Mr Fine, the Court has condemned you to 30 years in prison, without the possibility of parole!"

"What a dramatic ending, I love it!" he relished.

"Well, that was quite an introduction to our new playground!" Jones remarked forgetting Abbie wasn't with him, "but you handled this case as masterfully as always!"

 _ **"Arf!"**  _Hunter barked.

He blinked, "right . . . Abbie stayed at the theater. Why didn't you?"

 ** _"Woof!"_  **was his answer.

"Well, your as good as she is anyway," he shrugged as they walked to the car, "Phineas is going to stay behind bars for a long time . . . I hope his fellow inmates are sensible to Shakespeare."

 _ **"Arf!"**_  Hunter barked hopping into the front seat,

"Another good day's work!" he grinned starting the car, "let's go back to the theater and see what Abbie came up with."

When they got back to the theater, Jones and Hunter ran inside the auditorium to catch the end. He bumped into a man leaning against the wall and his apology was caught in his through when the man levered him with a death glare. The Huskie at his feet growled and Jones quickly ran to the other side of the theater.

He got there with just enough time to watch the performers take center stage and stand hand in hand for a bow. He scanned the actors who were dressed to now perform the Nutcracker, and when he saw Abbie he gasped. His partner was standing near the middle with Sheila and Nellie dressed as the Sugar Plum Fairy. He hadn't seen her without her hijab in so long that it was a shock to she her midnight hair done up in a thick bun with a tiara set in it.

As the curtains closed on the actor's, Jones and Hunter ran to the backstage entrance and meet them. The actors filled through to their dressing rooms and he pulled Abbie aside when she was close enough.

"I leave you alone for two hours and you go and put on a whole new play!" he laughs, "how did you do it?"

"Well . . ." she smiled, "the theater is going to preform the Nutcracker for Christmas in a few weeks. I figured since they already knew their parts, it wouldn't be hard to do a quick costume change and give the audience a sneak preview."

"But how did you end up in it?" he asked, "I didn't think you be into this."

"Please, I've been performing since I could walk, my comfort zone is as big as the Grand canyon!" she joked, "but to answer your question, the actress who's supposed to play the Sugar Plum Fairy broke her leg, and since I've played the part before. It was no problem for me to put on the tutu and tiara."

"Careful, you might get conned into doing this full time!" he warmed.

She laughed, "no way! But I might be in their Christmas pageant . . . give me a minute, I just have to change and I'll be with you."

While she disappeared down the hall with Hunter, someone tapped Jones on the shoulder. He turned around and came face to face with Chief King.

"You guys did a very good job as usual! I knew you'd feel at home in this district.," King says, "so, the people here are quite special, right?"

"Special . . . that's one word for it . . ." Jones muttered.

"Mrs MacCarthy for example, isn't she delightful? We used to be pretty close, you know . . . That was before her career took off, but we kept a friendly relationship . . ." he rambled, "anyway, I heard that she has a problem, so I'd like you to help her, for old time's sake."

"For old time's sake. Right," he snorted, "because she's such a delightful pers--"

"Zip it, Jones, or you'll finish this week as a circulation agent!" he warned, "anyway, I heard Jacob Dawks left all his possessions to the theater in his will. Some volunteers are packing them under Mrs Littlewood's supervision. You should help her too, she's a very nice person."

"You got that right!" he grinned licking his lips as Abbie came back, "hey Abbie, Do you mind if we stop on our way to talk to Desmond Galloway? I'm renovating my bedroom, you know. Come on, he could have some advice!"

"Yes I know, but let's save your shopping trips till the end, OK?" Abbie asked, "hello, Chief."

"Hello, Lt. and might I say, you sure surprised the team," King chuckled, "I think Ramirez used a whole roll of film taking pictures of you."

She giggled, "I'll be sure to ask him for some copies. Well Jones, since we're he we might as well check in with Sheila."

"How can she  _already_ have a problem?" Jones groaned as their Chief left.

Abbie shrugged, "I don't know, but I can hear her screaming from here."

"Do something!" Sheila demanded storming up to them, "call 911, the fireman, the POLICE!"

"Hum . . ." Jones blinked, "hello Mrs MacCarthy."

"There you are!" she says exasperated, "I need your help, my doom shall end! My precious Italian mask went missing! It was given to me by the famous Faberico Zeffiretti himself! My career is ruined!"

"Is it that important?" he asked.

"I can't act without my mask!" she wailed, "I wear it everyday before going to stage, as a lucky charm. I can't relax if I don't have it! Please Lt. Abbie, the theater world  _needs_  Sheila MacCarthy!"

"Fine!"

"It's OK, Mrs MacCarthy," Abbie assured her, "Jones and I will help you find this mask. Now please calm down while we take a look around."

Sheila went back to her dressing room and Jones and Abbie returned to the stage. They locked around the entrance areas, and Hunter barked at a pile of broken clay and ripped fabric.

"I think you found the mask Mrs MacCarthy is looking for . . ." Abbie muttered picking up the pieces.

"What a pity it's broken! Even shattered in pieces it looks beautiful," Jones says, "do you think you could repair it? We will never hear the end of it if Mrs MacCarthy sees it in this state."

"I can try, but clay is hard to work with," she replied pulling out the glue.

She work slowly with the broken pieces and gently worked the fabric back into place. The lines seemed to fuse together with the glue, and the mask returned to its original glory.

"Impressive!" whistled Jones, "you mended this mask perfectly. Nobody will ever notice it has been broken."

"I hope not," Abbie breathed, "the glue is dry, but we'll have to warn her not to wear it for a few hours."

"Now  _I_  can hear Sheila MacCarthy's screams from here," he cringed at the woman's volume, "let's give her this mask back."

They knocked on Sheila's dressing room door for what they hoped was the last time. The actress ripped it open and looked at them with furious eyes.

"My mask! Did you find my mask?" Sheila demanded, "ha, my soul won't endure such a loss!"

"Don't worry, Mrs MacCarthy, we found your mask," Abbie says holding it out to her, "it was broken, so you might want to wai--

"Broken? I can't believe it!" she gasped taking the mask and examining it, "who would damage my precious mask? This is ridiculous!"

"Well, whoever it was, I don't think they'll be doing it again," she assured.

"Well, thank you, Lt. Abbie, you're as talented as Samuel told me you were on and off the stage . . . I remember he was good with his hands, too," she smirked deviously, "please, give him my regards."

"Good with-- Oh!" Jones blushed, "sure, we'll pass the message Mrs MacCarthy."

"Perfect, I shall return to my flawless acting forthwith," Shelia turned to walk away but paused, "oh, and Lt. Abbie, this is for you."

Sheila walked over to her vanity and plucked a single white Gardenia from a vase of roses. She handed it to the Lt. and Abbie saw that there was a letter attached to the stem.

"You didn't have to do this," Abbie said touching the velvety petals.

"I didn't," Sheila said, "when I came back here, the flower was mixed in with my roses, the name on the card was yours, so I assume you have a secret admirer."

"Really?" she blinked.

She nodded, "Gardenia symbolize secret love and are used to tell the receiver that they are lovely. Whoever sent you thank knows their plants."

"Well then," she touched the flower into a inner pocket of her coat, "I guess I have a new mystery to solve."

"Just to let it involve a body!" Jones laughed.

Abbie rolled her eyes, "ge, and here I thought that would be a perfect first date . . ."

_**At Jacob's flat . . .** _

"Hello Mrs Littlewood," Jones greeted as a girl pushed past him with a box of stuff, "we came to help you take Jacob Dawks' things away from his room."

"How adorable of you two to take some time to help!" Margaret says with a smile, "and your timing is perfect: there has been a theft!"

"A theft?" Abbie questioned, "what did they steal?"

"Cookies!" she answered, "a ruffian took all the cookies I just brought them for the volunteers here! Please, officers, find who would be so evil! I would do it myself, but my lovely Astrid is sick again."

"Your . . . cookies?" Jones raised an eyebrow, "oh well, I do believe not sharing your delicious homemade cookies with everyone is a crime. Don't worry, we'll find the thief."

"Aw, stop flattering me, young man," Margaret teased picking up Astrid, "you deserve a whole pie for your commitment to our community, officers! I put the cookie plate over there in this mess. I must run to the vet now."

Margaret left the flat to take her dog to the vet, and left Jones, Abbie and Hunter to look around for any clues to the thief. Abbie decided to just set Hunter lose in the flat and the dog quickly found a plat that was to nice to have been Jacob's. She pulled the K-9 away before she could lick it clean and leaned in for a closer look.

"This must be the plate Margaret put her cookies on. I can still smell those delicious cookies . . ." Jones sighed with a watering mouth.

"Don't contaminate the evidence!" Abbie scolded moving the plate away.

"Ah, cookies . . ." he shook his head, "ahh . . . I'll let you examine it while I check if there is nothing edible here."

"Now I know why they say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach . . ." she muttered under her breath.

While Jones looked around the room for any food he could eat, Abbie checked the plat for anything the thief could have left behind. She found a spot on the plate that was shinier than the rest and swabbed a sample of it off for analyses.

"I got a substance off the plate!" Abbie informed.

"What kind of substance did you find on the plate?" Jones asked as he munched on a candy bar, "ew, that's gross, it looks like saliva!"

"It's probably not as gross as that candy bar," she wrinkled her nose, "how old is it anyway?"

He shrugged and took another bite, "anyway I bet Grace will analyze the sample you found to help Mrs Littlewood."

"Just don't die before then . . ."

_**At Galloway's Antiques . . .** _

"Lt. Abbie, Inspector Jones!" Desmond was behind the counter when they arrived, "what a pleasure to see you again! Come in, come in! What can I do for you today?"

"Actually," Jones started to explain, "I could use some decoration for my bedroom and--"

"Decorating? Fantastic!" he came out from behind the counter and showed him a deer head clock, "here, take a look at this marvelous clock! Very stylish, isn't it? And rare, I can assure you. It was a gift for the well-known Lord Bygone from his first wife!"

"Lord Bygone!  _The_  Lord Bygone!" he gasped, "you mean the lead figure of the Romantic movement owned this clock? Unbelievable! How did it end--Wait! I worked on the investigation when his grand-grand-etc . . .-"

"You know it's bad when he adds an ect." Abbie cut in.

"-children laid a complaint against a museum claiming his estate . . ." Jones continued eyeing the clock, "isn't this a forgery? Do you have a certificate of authenticity?"

"The certificate? I feel insulted, officer!" Desmond huffed, "fine, I have probably put it somewhere around here. Feel free to search it while I take care of less distrustful customers."

"Can you find the certificate, Abbie?" Jones asked, "I'd owe you."

"Well it looks like Desmond keeps most of his paperwork under the counter . . ." Abbie spoke to herself as she looked through it, "and if my hunch is correct, then the certificate should be right . . . here!"

"You found the certificate! Now we'll see if this clock is as unique as Desmond says!" he says, "since some certificates from Lord Bygone's case are kept at the station, we can compare this one with them to see if the seal is legit."

"Or, I can pull up the database right here and check," she countered, "Alex told me everything for verification is in there, so the certification marks should be in it."

"Well, let's check."

She pulled out her laptop and opened it on the counter. Alex had been right when he said that everything was in the database, a quick search brought them to Lord Bygone's certification marks and they compared the certificate they had with the requirements in the police files.

"There a perfect match," Abbie said closing the laptop, "the certificate is legit and the clock really belonged to the famous Lord Bygone."

"Looks like I owe him an apology . . ." Jones said sheepishly, "and I want this clock, it will fit nicely above my bed! "

"I hope Ginger gets a saw in this," she replied.

He blushed, "she loves hunting! Besides, she gets to pick out the furniture!"

She just rolled her eyes with a sigh as Desmond came over to them.

"So?" the antique shop owner inquired.

"Mr Galloway, we confirmed the clock with its certificate is real," Jones affirmed, "I'm sorry if I offended you earlier, being cautious is like a professional reflex at this point."

"I do know how it goes in your work-field," he chuckled, "but this could have damaged my reputation. Since you know it  _is_  authentic, how about we take a better look at this stylish clock?"

"It really is beautiful, don't you think Abbie?" he asked.

"It certainly has a . . . unique charm to it," she said keeping eye contact with the glass eyes,.

"Okay then, I'm buyi--" Jones caught sight of the price tag, "wait! What is the price?? But it costs my whole salary! I . . . I need to think about it . . ."

"As I told you, it is a unique piece of art, Lord Bygone's clock itself! It will be sold before the end of the day, I can assure you," he informed, "and to someone else if you're not interested anymore."

"But the price is . . ." he flattered, "oh fine! It's true I can't miss this opportunity! I'll take it!"

"A pleasure doing business with you," Desmond said ringing in the clock.

_**At the lab . . .** _

"Where's Jones?" Grace asked when only Abbie and Hunter came in.

"He had to run his new clock home, so I'll be finishing up today," Abbie replied, "so what could you find?"

"I analyzed the substance sample you found on the empty plate, and you're going to be surprised. It is saliva, but it belongs to an animal!" she said.

"Jones would say that its a cat, but I'm going to bet its a dog," she smirked, "am I right?"

You're looking for a dog," she nodded, "and one with too much sugar in its system for its own good. How'd you know?"

"Because Mrs Littlewood's beloved dog had to be taken to the vet with a stomach ache," she responded, "I better go tell her that Astrid is responsible for the cookies' disappearance."

_**Back at Jacob's clean flat . . .** _

"There you are, Lt.," Margaret says when she saw Abbie and Hunter approaching, "enlighten me, who is the bandit who stole my cookies?"

"I am afraid you know the culprit very well," she said, "we found evidences that Astrid is the cookie thief."

"Astrid? My cute doll?" she asked looking at the matisse in her arms, "but she is on diet?"

"Diets never stopped anyone before, human or dog," Abbie laughed.

"Poor sweetheart, you couldn't stand mummy baking with half-stomach, right? Oh poor lady, that's why you got sick again!" she cooed, "thank you Lt. Abbie! Let me cook something just for you, I'll bring it over to the station this evening to thank you."

"I'm sure Jones would appreciate that," she laughed harder.

"Well then, I'm just going to have to hide your treat form him, won't I?" she hummed with a knowing grin.

"Yes, yes you will."

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Ahhh, the start of a great series. I know this was the introduction case for the game, but I would like to have seen what happened to Matt at his trial.


End file.
